


A Crown of Kings

by margotdavid



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bookworm Harry Potter, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Gen, Harry Potter Has a Twin, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Ravenclaw Margaret Potter, Rebirth, Severus Snape Has a Heart, Westerosi Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28679076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margotdavid/pseuds/margotdavid
Summary: After the fall of Hogwarts, Hermione Granger and Margaret Potter, and an unlikely ally, perform one last spell hoping to be reborn in a better world. They end up in Westeros and were a Mad King reigns. Because of whom they were reborn as they couldn't help but be involved.
Relationships: Margaret Potter | Rhaena Targaryen / Daemion Velaryon, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Severus Snape/Shiera Seastar
Comments: 11
Kudos: 68





	1. Margaret I

Chapter 1 – Margaret I

Margaret Potter held Hermione Granger's trembling hand against hers. In front of them, the door of pure wood was being engraved with runes the color of ink black and blood red. The two witches kept chanting the spell, drawing the runes with their bloody hands. Ley lines and ancient runes, neither taught at Hogwarts on any other school, used toward the house. It was old magic, the darkest of magic, found in the books at number 12 Grimmauld Place. Maggie had made copies of the books Dumbledore had destroyed, not caring that they were "too dangerous".

Knowledge was knowledge and only ignorants burned books.

 _I hope we are doing this right_.

They had contrasted that knowledge from the books Viktor had gotten for Hermione. Even the Nott's library and Luna's ideas had contributed. They had formed their own DA, but smaller, where they studied magic in its purest form.

Something had to be happening, seeing as Margaret felt the sacrificed blood tainting something inside her. She looked at Hermione, whose brown eyes shone with tears. At that moment, Margaret knew her friend was feeling the effect as well.

As soon as it ended, they fell onto the ground.

The two girls held onto each other as they broke apart. The room seemed to have darkened, the silence haunting as if judging them from their spellwork.

The silence also proved they did it right. Had it been any other occasion, the two scholars would be delighted over the discovery. Margaret imagined her and Hermione announcing to their little study group the favored outcome. Imagined them going over books and discussing magic theories, arguing back and forward, like the bookworms they were.

Happier times.

The painful whimpering sound made them turn. Both girls draw their wands with a speed that only battle warned wizards possessed.

Hermione's was 12¾" walnut with a dragon heartstring core, stolen from the hands of the witch who had tortured her. It was evidence of her endurance and strength of will.

Margaret's wand sang the sweet lullaby of unlimited power, in all its 15 inches of elder wood with Thestral tail-hair core.

Hermione shouted. "Professor"

The brushed haired girl ran towards the body on the ground. Maggie's body, however, was frozen. Her eyes transfixed on the man in black robes, dying on the floor. Her mind blanked.

"Margaret!" Hermione called her, her eyes begging for help.

Her friend didn't hesitate and was pouring down vial after healing vial of healing potions, trying to get the bleeding man to stabilize. Hermione was trying to save Snape's life. Maggie's mind couldn't form any other thought other than that.

 _Move, your idiot! You've seen worse in your life. Hell, you've seen anything other than horrors in that last hours! Move!_ Her mind screamed at her body that by some miracle obeyed. Kneeling over the dying man, Margaret got her burgundy beaded pouch from around her neck and put her hand inside. The potions were soon in her hands.

"Miss Potter," the voice said between shaking breaks. "There's no used."

She gave him a look that hopefully showed her desire to have him shut his mouth and let her work. Margaret had been a Ravenclaw for a reason, she loved books as much as Hermione, and while she didn't have the brilliance of her friend, she was above average in terms of intellect.

" _A Potter capable of opening a book_ " Snape had scoffed in her very potions class when she passed his tests. Later, she would learn that her brother had failed miserably.

" _The only Potter with half a brain_ ". The potion professor was fond of saying.

It was time to prove to him why people said she and Hermione were the reason why their friends had lived this long. _I failed them. I can't fail him too. I am supposed to be the supporting character in this story. What use do I have if I can't do my role correctly?_ From the bag, she got the small vile with the greenish potion that shone with a strange moving red. She found her mouth forming words without stopping.

"I brewed it on the day moon aligned with mars and did the Arithmancy calculations myself. Well worth the Outstanding I receive in Potions if I may say so myself. I found these notes – magically – in my notebook one day. The handwriting was very similar to the notes on my brother's potion books. Expensive for sure, but the Potter's and Black vaults don't lack gold."

Margaret poured the anti-venom down the man's throat, ignoring his painful shouts. She kept speaking of the properties of the venom to Hermione in hopes of filling the silence with something. Perhaps distract them with something the three enjoyed. Professor Snape kept trashing, and Margaret could see he was trying not to shout. Even now, the man held onto his iron control.

"We keep him still and raise his body heat. We can't risk him catching hypothermia," Hermione said in a medical tone.

Her hand brushed the Professor's hair with a gentleness that contrasted with everything around them. His dark eyes were wide open. His mind was lucid to what was happening. Margaret didn't know if that was better. At least his eyes had lost the scorn and hatred expression.

"The ingredients are incredibly volatile. We can't use magic. I don't know how it would react against the potion. Help me hold him down, Mia."

Using their own bodies, both women held the professor down to the wooden floor. Neither commented on the fact they were both trying to save the professor that so much despised them, using a very precious and unique potion in doing so. The lines between light and dark had been merging since the moment they went on the run. Both of them had used Dark Curses and even the Unforgivable. They had committed many actions that would be considered Dark or criminal in the last year. Hermione had used the Killing Curse on Bellatrix. Margaret had Imperious Death Eaters while on the run and Draco Malfoy hours ago. They both used the cruciatus during battle.

The silence was only interrupted by the occasional groans of the man.

As time went on, her mind flashed to the events that got them there.

Margaret remembered Voldemort's laughter as her brother died. Malfoy and Nott's surprise attack when Voldemort's fell. Draco Malfoy's cutting smirk as the battle turned decisively in his favor. How Theo's last stand against his father allowed the two of them to escape. The scream Hermione have when Ron's body hit the ground.

Harry's last words before he faced his death.

She remembered messy-haired a boy and a girl, jet-black against flaming red, how they held each other and tried to fall asleep inside a cupboard. She remembered the girl reading with a low tone or singing some lullaby, the boy looking at her with a small smile.

A soft voice started to sing _Hey Jude_ , and it almost at the end when she realized she was the one singing it. She was about to stop when she felt Hermione's hand holding her own. She tilted her face, deep green meet bright brown, and Margaret kept on singing.

.

.

.

It had taken hours to calm the man down and move him to the bedroom on the second floor. They had tried to make it as comfortable as possible. They cleaned the bedroom with magic and put fresh blankets on the bed. Hermione performed healing spells on the man. Margaret changed his clothing, trying to respect his privacy as best as she could. She was please Mia was inside the bedroom when she did so, or they would break overseeing the professor's body.

Afterward, they moved to another room, but not before leaving two candles lighting the bedroom and the door semi-open.

Margaret finally looked at Hermione. Her hair was dirty. Her face was a mix of sweat, dirt, and blood. Her clothes were ripped, blood was drying in her collarbone. Her hands were bloodied.

Hermione did the same to her. Margaret could only imagine what she must look like.

"You go wash. I'll prepare for the other room for us to sleep. Or try to." Hermione said with tears in her eyes.

Margaret didn't know what to tell her to make it better.

She was about to leave to the bathroom when she felt Hermione's arms around hers. Firm and full of love. _Hermione's hugs_ , Harry had called. Margaret felt tears blinded her.

Margaret returned the gesture.

 _I love you too_.

.

.

.

The early morning light shone in the sky, but as she looked outside, only empty fields surrounded them. She knew the spell had worked when she could not see Hogsmeade on sight. Her eyes watched as her fingers - washed, _clean_ fingers - made little invisible drawings on the cold window.

The forces of Malfoy and Nott had turned to the village as soon as Voldemort fell. The massacre would haunt her forever. They had barely cast a spell, but the army pillaged, raped, killed their way into victory. Margaret did not have the strength to make a mental count of the dead.

She felt Hermione's hands on her hair, gently braiding it, and without turning, Margaret knew she too was looking out the window.

"Do you think Headmaster Dumbledore knew that the Shrieking Shack is located amidst ley lines?"

"Knowing him, I am sure. An abandoned house in such a magical inclined place? It is too much of a coincidence. Either way, I'm glad it worked."

"Me too." Hermione's voice was softer.

Hermione's moral code was always stronger than hers.

She felt Hermione's hand had atop hers. Looking down, Margaret noticed the scars, three diagonal cuts along her right palm. Unclenching her fist, Margaret stared at her own scars. Hermione returned to her work.

Unable to take in the silence for too long, she asked, "How is the professor?"

"Healing. He won't awake for days. Possibly weeks."

"We have a month and nineteen days until the Solstice. We can't do the spell before then."

"How does it even work?"

How can you believe such a thing was what Hermione wanted to ask, but wouldn't.

"Harry died before our eyes. Then he came back. I saw my parents, Mia. We saw them! How can I not believe what Harry told me? I need to believe it."

"I am tired of fighting, Mia. I don't want to see more war. I want to be selfish. Let's be selfish."

"We'll be dead before we can even form a rebellion. Might as well try the spell and leave this place."

Hermione sounded almost as if she believed in it. Margaret wondered if that made her suicidal. They were both very willing to do this, so maybe they were both a little too willing to do something that would result in their death, and a leap of faith neither of them naturally had.

"We have the cloak. We can hide in the Muggle World."

"Turn," Mia said, and they switched places.

Using a soft brush, Margaret combed Hermione's wet hair, trying to work her curls into something more malleable. The action was familiar, something they had started to do while on the run, as they shared watch time. It was soothing and methodical.

"There were three brothers. Three objects-"

"We need three people," Hermione finished. They looked at the stairs. "He won't agree."

"We saved his life. A life he spent protecting us. He'll agree to it."

"We still need things. Our stocks are low. I have the map."

Margaret hummed in agreement. "We'll take turns on going to Hogwarts or Hogsmeade. There are things we can take from Muggle World... I miss wearing dresses."

"You can get any dress you want." Mia smiled a bit before her expression turned serious. "You need to offer some of your blood before leaving and entering."

"I know. But first, we should heal and rest. Things will calm down outside." Hopefully. "And then you can make a list of what we need to take with us."

"We need an inventory of everything we need," Mia said with that bossy voice she still could not shake after all these years.

It made Margaret smile and kiss her braided hair. "Let's go to bed. The colored schemed lists can wait."

Hermione held her hand. "I promise not to forget your chocolate."

"You better."

.

.

On Day 26, the professor awoke fully recovered.

Hermione was outside looking for supplies while Margaret was worked on lunch for herself. The old record player played Pink Floyd in the background. There were rarely used on British soil, but Fleur said that they were common in Wizard France. It worked similarly to wireless but allowed them to play muggle gramophone records to her utter delight.

Her love for muggle music was well known. She rarely did anything without some background noise. In her years at Hogwarts, Muggle music was common in the Ravenclaw tower. Arguments about music were typical Ravenclaw activities and could get very heated. Everyone knew 'Claws debated constantly. What most students didn't know was it was rarely about homework.

Margaret had loved living in that tower. While Ravenclaw didn't have the hierarchy that Slytherin seemed to be ruled by, Maggie knew how schools worked, and she refused to be at the bottom of the pyramid again.

Unlike Harry and his _Golden Trio_ that kept mostly to themselves, Margaret had seen in the magic world as a fresh start. She was no longer a poor girl who hid her intelligence because of her family. She was a Potter, and that came with a trust found she could not possibly spend it in a lifetime, and recognition.

When she saw that pile of gold at eleven, she promised herself that she would gain power and respect. She would never be the girl sleeping in a cupboard again. She had failed repeatedly in leaving Dudley's house but by no fault of hers.

There was a reason that her sorting had been hatstall, at six minutes and forty seconds, the longest since Headmaster Dumbledore. Unlike Harry, there was little Gryffindor in here, but a lot of eagle and snake. She had many traits in common with the Slytherin. Unlike Harry, she was not blinded by the hatred for one house, no matter how annoying Draco Malfoy was.

However, Margaret was a lover of history. In the mind of an eleven-year-old, she refused to be part of a group that sounded too much like Hitler's Youth. Most importantly, their ideas about girls sounded like they came from the Dark Ages.

"The Dark Side of the Moon?" A deep voice spoke.

She turned around wand in hand and shield up.

"Don't sneak up on me." She warned him, and he nodded in understanding. "As for music, I found that muggles do it much better than wizards."

"I agree."

They stood in silence for some time. The Professor was garbed in black wool trousers and a dress shirt, the clothes that they had changed him into. The red-haired wanted to dress Snape in one of Harry's quidditch hood, but Hermione forbade her. Professor Snape put on his cloak as well.

Despite barely escaping death, he still had his intimidating and commanding presence.

His complexion was still too pale to be natural, and his body was leaning heavily against the door. How he managed to descend the stairs was beyond her comprehension. Severus Snape wasn't taken down with ease. He proved it time and time again.

"Please sit, professor. I prepared some salad. We can share." She began to set the table for them, ignoring the fact he had yet to move.

Margaret fidgeted with her dress. It was an emerald green shirt dress that she had brought in a vintage clothes store. It made her feel pretty. Now, she wondered what pictured she painted for her professor, in a pretty dress and Mary Jane kitten heels. To him, they were in a warzone, and she was dressed like a fanciful girl.

"I am no longer a Professor." He said as he took the chair. She took notice of his careful movements.

Margaret knew better than to offer her help.

"You are no Headmaster either. Amycus Carrow has taken the post until they can appoint a higher ranking Death Eater." She couldn't keep her spite when saying the name.

They sat in silence while eating, and she had been very grateful for the music, or she would start to demands answers. She was already washing the plates when the professor broke the silence.

"You left a little book on the bedside table."

"Did you like it?"

"Fanciful tales for children. What do you think?"

"There is much more than fancifulness in it. There is truth in most of it. I know it."

"You were always imprudently open-minded but I never took you for a Lovegood."

"Don't ever say that!" She snapped at him, throwing the cup in the sink, breaking it. She felt a fury inside her as she turned to the man. "Say what you will about me, or my father and his friends, but don't you _dare_ say a word about Luna. Or Neville or any other _child_ whose blood is wetting the Hogwarts ground right now."

Severus Snape looked down, and his face showed something she could never have imagined- shame. "You are right. I do not know that happened."

"We lost." She said flatly as if that was not obvious. "Harry did his duty like Dumbledore's little child-soldier and gave his life when he took that snake-faced man down with him. What the headmaster failed to see is that killing Riddler would not stop the fight. Lucius Malfoy and Nott Sr took control and were ten times more effective than Tom. I expect they were already planning it well before Tom returned."

"Nott was always a threat. Cold and calculating. A Slytherin in every account, and a true blood purist." Unlike most, she knew the character of the man very well, so she just nodded. "His son? Theodore?" he asked not ungentle. It was enough for Margaret's mind to break where she had effectively been pushing down some part of the battle.

It was an unspoken rule that Margaret would not bring up Ron and Hermione would not utter Theo's name. It had worked until now. Suddenly all she could see was a boy with black hair wet with blood, a haunting serenity, and knowing eyes. The utter confidence derived from understanding and accepting of one's last decision.

It was the second time that day she watched a part of her heart embrace Death like a martyr at a scaffold.

"Theo. My Theo." She bit her fisted hand, but her eyes were already burning, her sobs rising to wailings of utter heartbreak. Even her body gave up.

"Oh, Margaret." She didn't even realize it was the first time the man had called her by name. Her pain was too large to even account for the arms and chest holding her up, somehow keeping her grounded to the earth.

.

.

Hermione started to wear Ron's jersey and clothes. She wore the Weasley name stamped in her back, as she did the grief in her face. Margaret burned her Ravenclaw robes and began wearing summer dressed in the muggle fashion. Profes- Severus – as he had insisted they call him – wore his formal clothes.

A week after he woke up, and under a large number of potions and muggle alternative medicine, he was able to visit his home by himself.

They gave him a small leather pouch and the invisible cloak, which surprised him. Margaret told him that if they could not trust him, they would have let him die. If he was troubled by his two formal students' words, he hid it from them.

"I was able to empty the house of anything we might need," Severus informed them during dinner.

"They did not raid it?" Hermione asked. They had stopped calling them Death Eaters or any name but monsters.

Severus had to tranquilize both of them when Hermione came back with the _Daily Prophet_. Minister Nott had ordered the death of every muggle-born and half-blood with a muggle or muggle-born parent that was currently under arrested. The Muggle-Born Registration Commission had sentenced to Azkaban for "stealing magic" every single muggle-born beforehand. Those who supported the Order or fought against Tom's side were branded as "traitors of the nation" and sentenced to death.

It was a bloodbath.

Hermione's grief was loud and ferocious. She might have gone out in revenge spread afterward. It was stupid, but no one condemned her for it.

Snape barely slept and seemed to have devoted his time to make sure they didn't kill themselves. He also worked most on the spellwork they needed, which was good. Despite being the best students in their year, they were young. Snape was brilliant and had many more years of experience.

"The wards were untouched since they are linked to my magic. I brought history books. Since we have no idea what the alternative world you speak of is like."

"The wards were untouched since they are blinked with my magic. I brought history books since we have no idea of this alternative world you speak of is like."

"When I first got my Hogwarts' letter," Margaret spoke with a raspy tone. She had not used her voice in days. "I imagined this world to be like the Lord of the Rings. I still believed for quite some time. Perhaps, we'll end up in Middle Earth." She said fancifully. "Or perhaps we'll end up in a world without magic. If so, I plan to reenroll myself in college and have a quiet life in a seaside town."

Hermione gave her hand a squeeze and a small smile. They had shared a deep love for Tolkien. It was one of the first things that made them friends. Each of them had their copy on the bags. It was another way to pass the time. "I like that. I vote for Rivendell or Gondolin if it still exists. If not. I wouldn't mind being a nurse, maybe a teacher."

They turned to their formal professor who was frowning at them but without any malice on his face. He actually looked pensive. "At this point, I would take the Shire or Dale."

"I cannot see you in the Shire," Margaret said with mirth. "Merry and loud hobbits? You would scare them away."

He nodded and turned pensive. "Númenor."

Margaret smiled, picturing Professor Snape reading Tolkien, which he clearly must-have. "A good choice, but you forget the greatness of Doriath and the Hithlum."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Your obsession with the Sons of Feanor and Fingon is showing."

"Don't listen to her, Severus. Mia likes boring elves."

Severus scoffed but she could see the curling of his lips, and suddenly they spent the rest of the evening arguing about Middle Earth. That night, Margaret dreamt of waterfalls, green grass fields, and white cities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it. This is my first time publishing in ao3 so your feedback will very much be appreciated. As I am Portuguese, my English will not be perfect, so I apologize beforehand for the grammar errors you will likely find, as I am still looking for a Beta. 
> 
> I also set up a Pinterest board for those who wish to follow the story with some images I use for inspiration. It is under margot1996david.
> 
> Well wishes to everyone.


	2. Hermione I

Chapter 2 – Hermione I

Outside, the familiar sound of fighting startled her, but instead of the usual sounds of spell-casting, she heard steel on steel. Looking around, she realized she was inside a wood cabin of some sort. Her hands were bound with a cord against a mast. Her hair was free, dirty, and lighter than ever before. Besides her terrible headache, she felt her limbs sore. But she was alive.

 _It worked!_ She screamed inside her mind at the same time she tried to use her magic to free herself. When it didn't work she panicked and started to scream and trash.

" _Mudblood. Mudblood_." The gleeful voice soon formed into the person that hunted her dreams, with her crazy lidded eyes and her disheveled curls.

Hermione screamed and trashed against her. Bellatrix's mad laugh made her throbbing head even more painful. She kept on fighting until her body drained its energy. Suddenly, she heard another voice trying to calm her down. The smell was familiar, but she couldn't pinpoint whom it belonged to.

"Miss Margaret."

She opened her eyes and found someone else eyes. They were a grey so dark that it was almost black but with no hint of insanity in them. And the voice was stern and deep. She focused on it and was thrown back to her first year of Potions class.

"Professor?"

Her vision began to clear off. The face above her gained more definition. She took in her surroundings. The wooden walls around her looked nothing like the cool marble of Malfoy manor. She saw the sun shining through the open windows. _I am not at the Manor_.

"Yes. Miss Granger. Listen to my voice. You are safe."

She felt a warm hand taking hers and found herself touching a female chest.

"Mia, breathe with me. In and out. In… out… in…out..."

She followed the advice spoken by the soft voice as she stared at her former professor. Severus Snape looked the same and nothing like he was.

Severus Snape seemed even taller. His black robes showed his slim figure, although he was no long sickly thin. His hair was still pitch black, but it was longer and much healthier. His face features were still sharp, and his nose hooked seemed to fit against his features. Everyone always spoke about how Professor Snape was the bat of the dungeon. Hermione had always found him eerily like a raven. Somehow he reminded her of one more than ever.

Hermione remembered the conditions of the spell. They would take over the body of someone whose soul would cross the river of the Death. In the merge, they would bring something of their past lives with them. That's how she knew the bags would travel as well as long as they comply with the laws of nature.

Feeling the heat of the body behind her, she turned and met the familiar almond-shaped green eyes. A wave of relief hit her. It lasted the time it took to take the rest of her features.

"Merlin, you look –"

"Yes, my hair is paler than Malfoy's." Maggie's displeasure was clear in her perfect features.

Margaret was always an attractive girl with fragility to her features that distinguished her. She still had that aura, but somehow it amplified. Her face seemed carved with delicate features: big eyes, bow-shaped lips, and porcelain tone that a year living in a camp had previously cured. She was still small, and while her clothes seemed tighter, it was not in a womanly way but gained weight made her look healthier.

"Where are we?" she asked the professor, who looked like he had been in a fight. And was that dagger that Maggie was carrying?

"If Miss Margaret had pointed hears, I would say Middle Earth, but all I know is that we are in a ship."

"A _very_ old ship," Maggie said, and her pretty features were very displeased with something. Hermione could not understand what? _Had the spell not work?_

Severus gave the no longer red-haired a look before turning to Hermione. "The spell worked. Unfortunately, I believe we either went back 500 years into the past, or we are somewhere that it is similar looking."

Hermione blinked and processed what her former professor was saying. Maggie started to move around the look as if looking for something. As her friend moved, she noticed the blood on the dress.

"This ship was under attack by what I believe are pirates. They speak English and other languages I cannot understand but somehow seem familiar to me."

"Severus somehow could use a sword. And I knew how basic defense even if I never used a dagger as a weapon." Maggie said and then turned to open the oaken chest close to the old-fashioned bed.

The entire cabin was out of some period piece scenery. The room wasn't large. There was a bed, a writing desk filled with parchments, a broken ink bottle on the ground, a chair, a bookshelf lined with books, and a small armoire with another chest close by.

"Muscle memory?" Hermione guessed.

"Probably. We have no certainties on what the spell would react with memories."

"I remember all my life, but not a thing about the soul from this body." Hermione offered, and both nodded in agreement. "Only a horrible headache."

"I woke up like that as well." The professor told her, and they looked to Margaret, who was holding some piece of black cloth in her hands.

"I did as well, but it didn't last as long as Mia's," Margaret looked at her, and Hermione could see the uncertainty. It was gone in a second. "So, what now? What do we do?" Margaret asked the professor. Somehow, he had become their leader.

"Most of the screw of the ship is dead from what I gathered. The two of you are the only two women I've seen so far." The professor looked between the two of them, his dark eyes scanning them over. "You share traits."

"Really?" Hermione asked, curious, for she had not yet seen a mirror.

"If you look deeper, yes," he continued clinically, "Your noses are aquiline and small. Your lips are shaped the same way, but Miss Granger's are slightly fuller. You shared a similar bone structure, high cheekbones, long necks, and both are on a smaller side."

Hermione looked at Maggie, still clad in her striped summer dress, and wondered if she looked as pretty. Her clothes were too baggy to tell. Then she noticed something about her friend.

"You both look younger. Do I as well?"

"I don't think so, Miss Granger. You don't seem older either."

Professor Snape's face looked ten years younger at least, but he always looked older than his age. Margaret, however, still seemed to be developing into adulthood. Hermione imagined going through puberty again and shivered. _At least I am not a child or an old woman_.

"Identity crises later. We should change our clothes," Maggie said, holding a black shirt. "These are all male, but they'll do."

Severus gave them space to change and turned to study the bookshelf. Both girls had changed clothes in front of each other, even shared a shower or bath, but turn their backs without any word. Hermione had not yet seen her new body. She doubted Maggie had time to do so. It was strange to have someone know your body before you did. Time also demanded a quick change of clothing, so Hermione had little time to see her body.

Despite this, she noticed the lack of larger scars.

They had found Severus by the table covered by a map that looked old in style but new. The supposedly "Known World" looked nothing like that Hermione had seen before. A look passed between them.

"Princess," a voice spoke from behind them. "Can I come in?"

Hermione stared at Maggie, who shrugged. The man didn't say ' _princesses'._ So, which one was it? Hermione prayed to Merlin and Morgana it was Margaret.

"You can come inside," Severus ordered in his teacher's voice.

Hermione gaped at the man who entered. He was tall with a hair as fair as Maggie's, and with a beauty that she expected the elves to have had. He was clad in brown trousers with high boots and a turquoise shirt that was closed below the neck. His body, lean and strong, reminded Hermione of Bill. He had a sword on his leather belt. All and all, he looked like a mix of a prince and a pirate.

He bowed deeply before them, but his eyes were on Maggie. Hermione felt relief at the action. His unusual eyes blinked, seemingly shocked by their state of clothing.

"We needed a change of clothing," Margaret said with a shrug. Her eyes, however, didn't move from the man.

The young man's eyes were light purple, a color that Hermione never saw before, they narrowed slightly as he looked at them and Hermione began to calculate the likelihood of defeating him.

"So, they stole for your closet?"

They were all wearing black, or in the case of Maggie, a midnight blue. "Again." he chuckled.

Some of the tension broke from Hermione, but the Professor was still staring. He raised a dark eyebrow as if he was still in the classroom.

Before anyone could say anything, a voice broke.

"Where are Brynden and the girls?"

"We are in Ser Brynden's cabin." The fair man spoke.

Soon steps were heard, and a tall figure appeared at the door.

"Rhaena! Alysanne! Are they well?"

A man clad in light armor appeared. He was older than them, likely around forty-years. His hair was the same color as Margaret's, and they share the same sculptured features. His bearing reminded Hermione of Lucius Malfoy but less imperious. _Definitely could be an elf of Middle Earth_.

He was coming with a hurried speed but stopped abruptly three steps away from the table. His deep violet eyes looked from between the two women, his gaze both calculating and solemn. He must have seen something in them, for his expression turned sadder, and his powerful shoulders seemed to drop.

He took a deep breath before he turned to the man at the door who looked wary. "Ser Daemion, could you leave us for some time. See that the men get medical attention. Bound the prisoners to the bellow deck. I wish to talk with them."

"Do you wish me to start interrogating them?"

"You can do so. Do it gently."

The handsome man – Daemion – nodded and bowed before them. But before he left, Hermione noticed that his eyes lingered on Margaret one last time.

They stood in silence for some time. Hermione's held onto Margaret's hand and moved slightly closer to the professor. The man took a deep breath. His beautiful but strange eyes moved between Margaret and Hermione with growing sadness.

"You don't know who I am." He spoke softly. He raised his hand to stop whatever lie that Maggie was about to speak. "Don't lie to me." His voice was heavy but not cruel. "You are not from here, at least not in your souls. I've been warned this would happen." He ran his hands through his silver hair.

"How?" Hermione asked, unable to keep her curious mind still.

His mouth twisted. "Ou- my family has been blessed with Travels. I meet the last one. She warned me of your coming."

Travels? There was no mention of them in the book they read. In reality, there was little information. They couldn't even confirm that the spell would work. It was a leap of faith. Harry told Margaret, after his return from death, that the decision to let one's soul travel the realms came from the Fates.

Hermione believed it came from the intent of the spell and one's magic.

"How? Was she from our world?"

The man smiled at Margaret. It was tinted with sadness. "No. She was born here but had lived another life. The memories of her past came with time. She can sense disturbances between the worlds. Those were the words she used. I wanted to know as little about it as possible. I didn't want to believe her."

"But you clearly did." The professor spoke. His expression was neutral, but his eyes showed that he wasn't suspicious of the man. Hermione wondered what the former spy saw in the fair-haired that gain the elusive professor's trust.

"Shiera Seastar has a way to make men believe in the most far-reaching of things."

 _Shiera Seastar_. Hermione filed that name for later.

"But before anything else. I promise you that I will tell you all you must know."

"These bodies' names would be a start. And where we are." Maggie said with a forced smile.

He moved towards the map as he spoke, "currently, we were forced to dock in the north coast of Sothoryos." Hermione noticed that his finger pointed to the beginning of the continent on the bottom of the map. "We won't stay long here."

"Why?"

"Sothoryos is known for the wild men that live in the forests and their fatal diseases. We were on our way to Cinnamon Straights. Here." He showed them a place slightly further east.

"It is where you are from?" Hermione asked.

"No." He let out a little laugh. "We are from the farthest west you can go," his fingers moved through the map until he landed on the other large continent. "Westeros. The south part of it is called The Seven Kingdoms. "

"We should take notes," Hermione said, and the man's eyes shone once again.

"Perhaps I should talk more about … yourself and the members of this ship before we can speak of more complicated things."

"It would be better." The professor said.

"Well, to make things easier, this is the 277 After Conquest." They all looked at him with various degrees of curiosity. "I will explain it later on."

Hermione and Margaret exchanged a look that spoke of making mental lists to speak of later. Perhaps they could use the Pensieve they had _borrowed_ from the Headmaster office later on.

He took a deep breath. He seemed to have decided to speak to the Professor first, for his eyes turned to him. My name is Maegor Targaryen. Your name is Brynden Blackwood. You were born a second son of the second son of Lord Quentyn Blackwood. Your father was named Robert, and your mother and his second wife, Morya Mooton. His great-grandson and your second cousin, Bennifer, is the current lord of Raventree. You had an elder brother who was slain in the War of the Ninepenny Kings, seventeen years ago. You had two sisters. Your full-blooded sister, Alyssa, is wed to Lord Walder Frey. Your half-sister, born from your father's first marriage, died some good years ago. She was Lady of Harrenhal… which means nothing to any of you."

It meant that they definitely would need a Pensieve to memory all of this. They were hoping for a calm life, and some part of them knew they would need to be new people, but this was all too much. And Hermione's head still hurt.

He took another deep breath, and Hermione offered him what she hoped was an encouraging smile.

"I supposed these are noble titles from lands they rule." Professor Snape – Brynden – said.

Maegor nodded. _Feudalism. Perfect. Because we didn't deal with enough self-important people_. Hermione exchanged a look with Margaret. Margaret rolled her eyes, but Hermione murdered ' _Princess'_ to her. Margaret glared as a reply.

"Correct. I shall give you books on the history and geography of Westeros and the lineages of the great and minor houses. Rhaena would know them all." His expression showed he didn't want to add that last part.

A part of Hermione knew what he was about to say, for it explained his sadness.

"That is you. Rhaena Targaryen. Your mother was the late Lady Margot Reyne. She was an only child and would be Lady of Castamere had it not been for the rebellion." Something darker passed through his violet eyes. "She passed away four years ago from the Grey Plague."

Hermione saw the sadness on Margaret's face. Her best friend bit her lip before asking. "How was she?"

"Margot was beautiful. She had red hair and your eyes." Hermione closed her eyes in pain. She wanted to hug her friend. "Very outgoing. She enjoyed hawking and horse-riding. She was also very charming and had courtier's wit."

"She was your wife, wasn't she?" Margaret asked with a sad voice.

Maegor nodded. No one needed to say that Rhaena had been the man's daughter.

"You were born later in the year of 261. Margot went into early birth. You were supposed to be born in the first weeks of the New Year."

"I'm sixteen."

"We say ten-and-six. Actually, there are still four moons to your birthday. We hoped to be back from the Shadow Lands before the celebration."

Hermione did not have time to ask what the Shadow Lands were before he turned to her. He had the same sad look in his eyes and Hermione remembered the Professor's comment that Maggie and she looked similar.

"You were born in the year of 259 a moon before Summerhall." He gave a heartbreaking smile. "Your birth was the reason I escaped the fire."

"Am I?" She looked at Margaret, who gave her a little smile and then to Maegor.

"Yes. You two are half-sisters." His gaze went to her linked hands. "Your name is Alysanne Waters. Your mother was Lady Ella Hightower. Your second cousin, Leyton Hightower, is Lord of Oldtown." He shifted nervously.

"Is Ella alive?"

"Yes. She is in fine health. She is currently living with your grandmother Daenora. She and I are not married."

Hermione blinked, not really understanding why he was so nervous. _Was Leyla Hightower his mistress?_ It made Hermione mad that the man cheated on his wife, but why did he look so distressed?

"Mia," Margaret spoke in a low tone. "You were born out of wedlock. This is some sort of medieval time. You're a bastard."

"Oh. Did Lady Margot know?" She asked Maegor.

"Your mother and I were together years before I wed Margot. She understood as best as she could."

There was a long uncomfortable moment that was broken by Professor Snape.

"Why don't you tell us about the people on the ship and why we are so far away from our supposed homeland."

Maegor seemed glad for the advice.

"We have been leaving in the Free Cities." He pointed to the map. "Since Rhaena was born, we traveled through some of them. But after Margot's death, we began to travel farther. We made a great deal of money in the trade business. The Targaryen name opened many doors."

"Right." Margaret seemed slightly nervous. "That man called me a princess."

Oh. Hermione almost forgot about it with so much information. _I should take notes_.

"The Targaryen house – our house – rules Westeros from well 277 years."

"So the Conquest was made by the Targaryen family." Professor Snape spoke.

"Aegon, the First and his sister-wives, Visenya and Rhaenys, conquered and united the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros with their dragons and a small army. The day Aegon was crowned in Oldtown, marked the time when the Maester began counting the years as After and Before Conquest."

"Sister-wives."

"Dragons?"

Hermione and Margaret asked at the same time.

"Dragons. Yes. Our family hails from Old Valyria." He pointed to a peninsula on the map. It was very close to their current location. "500 years before Aegon began his conquest, the Doom of Valyria happened. A great catastrophe that resulted in the destruction of the peninsula and the death of all the dragons and dragonlords besides House Targaryen."

"That's convenient," Margaret said with a raised eyebrow.

"Daenys, the Dreamer, our ancestor, dreamt of it years before. Taking heed of her warning, her father, Lord Aethar, sail to Dragonstone, an inhabitable island in Westeros. There we made a new home."

"She dreamt of something that happened in the future." Professor Snape seemed to want to confirm it.

"Daenys had what we call Dragon Dreams. She is the first recorded from our family to have them."

"Was she a Traveler?" The professor asked.

Hermione envied his ability to act composed and still ask relevant questions. Her brain was still stuck on the sister-wives. 

"We don't know. But Lady Shiera believes so."

"The sister-wives?"

Maegor gave Hermione a little smile. "It was the custom of Old Valyria to wed brother and sister, or cousin to cousin, to keep the bloodline pure. It was the way we controlled dragons."

The three of them looked at each other. The words _Black Family_ were not needed to be said out loud. _At least the Black's didn't commit full incest_. Hermione knew that it wasn't unheard of, however. But that happened centuries ago!

"Our mothers were not your kin."

"There is some distant relation, but not that different from most noble houses."

Hermione exchanged a long look with her best friend. They would need a family tree in the future.

"Unfortunately, the dragons died 150 years ago. I have books that explain our family history better than I could. But my Great-Grandfather, King Daeron, the Second, stopped with the marriages. Or at least tried to. His four sons married outside of the family, as he himself did. Regrettably, only two of them had descendants. When my grandfather was king, he wed my mother to Prince Aerion, his son and, at the time, heir. The marriage merged the two royal lines."

He once again ran his hand through his hair. He seemed to be looking for words.

"You see… King Aerys died without issue. His brother and heir, Rhaegel, had died before him, as did two of his children. My mother, Daenora, was a girl when Aerys died, so she was passed over in favor of her uncle Maekar."

Hermione and Margaret couldn't help themselves from scoffing.

"You will understand what that is such a big problem. Maekar eldest son, Daeron the Drunker, died soon after, leaving only a simple-minded girl."

"Simple-minded?" Hermione interrupted. She wanted to scream at the man. _Simple-minded! Merlin! That is almost as bad as the Magic World's actions towards squibs_. And apparently, they were willing to have someone nicknamed 'The Drunker' as King, instead of a woman.

"They are mostly called lackwits, but simple-minded is a kinder way to say it. They are people lacking well- wits. Do you have those?"

Hermione stopped Margaret from making a snarky reply. "Disable. We call them disabled people."

"Well. In our world, they are not very accepted. Princess Vaella, no one would want her to inherit the throne. So, King Maekar had my parents betrothed in hopes for a clear line."

"Prince Aerion was his second child. The heir apparent," Professor Snape said. "Why aren't you King?"

"My father was also mad."

 _Imbedding would do that to you_. Hermione was surprised with the matter-of-fact way he said his father was mad. He had much more trouble speaking of Hermione's bastard status and the disabled princess.

"When King Maekar died, my father preceded him by a year. He drank wildfire."

"He drank fire!" Margaret facepalmed.

"Wildfire is a flammable liquid, made by Alchemist of Lys. But yes, when the King died, I was a mere baby. The Hand of the King at the time -" Margaret and Professor Snape look at each other. Hermione could already imagine the questions. "Brynden Rivers called a Great Council to decide the succession. My uncle, Aegon, was crowned Aegon the Fifth."

"But you stayed in Westeros afterward."

Maegor nodded to the professor. "My mother was given some castles in the Reach. She was made to sign a treaty that if I married without the King's consent, it would be considered treason." He looked at her. "That is why I never wed your mother. She was a lady of a powerful house. And a Hightower above all that."

"But you wed Lady Margot." The Professor said. Hermione wanted to ask how he could remember all the names. Hermione was still trying to figure out the royal line. "Was that marriage a less powerful one for alliance building?"

"No. In some ways, marrying Margot was more dangerous. But in 257, when I wed, it was the King's decree that I did so. You see, King Aegon's children caused a great deal of trouble into his reign. His eldest had to abdicate because he wed a commoner. His second son married his sister in secret, and their other son died without issue. Princess Shaera and Crown-Prince Jaehaerys had only a son, Aerys, who is now King. He married his only sister in 259."

Hermione took a deep breath at that.

"With so few descendants. King Aegon thought better to have me wed and sire some children."

"But why did you leave?" Margaret asked.

"A couple of years after I married your mother, there was a rebellion in the Westerlands, the lands your mother came from. The conflict was between the ruling House Lannister and your mother's house." He fisted his right hand over the table. "I can understand punishing people for treason, but what happened was too much. I will have Daemion tell you the story, for it is too painful for me to speak of. What you need to know was that your mother was the only member left. She was devastated and pregnant at the time. We believe the reason she went into early labor was stress. When you were born - a girl – after four years of marriage, they wanted to force your mother into a motherhouse to become a Septa, so I could remarry. A septa is-"

The last part of the history was too familiar to Hermione, and Margaret also picked it up for she was the one who interrupted.

"A religious focuses woman. Dedicated to serving God. There are vows of chastity involved I am sure."

"Yes."

"In our world, we called them nuns."

"Well, your mother was pious as any lady, but she would not be forced into becoming a Septa. And I wouldn't allow such a thing. I knew what they wanted. Soon, you would be in a motherhouse as well. It was the last drop, as soon as Margot and you were safe to travel. We pick the first ship and sailed to Lys."

"Did the King say anything?"

"He didn't. Jaehaerys died soon after. His son named his Hand the same man who caused your mother so much heartbreak. I would rather have us be called traitors than forced your mother into the same room as Tywin Lannister. When she died, they sent an envoy. I sent him back to Westeros without speaking a word with him."

Hermione was shocked for words. She could see the man's tension, pain, and exhaustion. She felt for him. He was here, exposing his story to who were supposed to be his daughters. Daughters who were all but dead now.

Hermione walked to him and placed a hand on his arm. He looked up at her with a forced smile.

"We should rest. From what I gather this ship was under attack just hours ago. Are you the Captain?"

"Yes. Daemion and I share the title."

"Why don't you take some time to process all this. You can get us those books. Between us, we can read and figure things for ourselves. Later, we can ask you questions over a meal."

He smiled at her. "You might not be my Alysanne, but you are so much like her."

She could see the water gathering in his eyes. He closed them for some time, when his purple eyes were opened, they were dry. His mask was perfect. Hermione could never be like that, but Maggie could be broken inside but smile through it all.

"You are right. We all need a break."

.

.

Margaret was pacing in the room, book in hand. Professor Snape had taken the chair and was reading a tome of geography. Hermione had two books open in the bed she was laying on. Her shoulders supporting her body as she watched her best friend fume.

"Seriously? This family is insane! I can't believe this Prince Aerion. He was crazy."

Hermione had to agree. "Who names his son after the worse king in history?"

"I don't know if he's the worst." Margaret stopped her ramblings. Hermione raised an eyebrow. Even the professor stopped his reading. "Aegon the Unworthy was pretty terrible. He reminds me of Henry VIII, but without any worthy policy. At least he didn't marry his mistresses."

"Which Maegor did!" Hermione argued.

"At least I can now see why Targaryen marrying Hightower women just calls for disaster. Between Ceryse and Alicent, it would put off the realm of Hightower Queens."

Hermione glared at her.

"What about you Professor?"

"I told you, Miss Granger, that I am not your professor anymore."

"Well, she can hardly call you Severus anymore."

Margaret did have a good point.

"Brynden it is. Speaking of the name, did you read about Brynden Rivers?"

"Yes. I have many questions about him. And Queen Visenya. Were they wizards? If so, why only them? Our magic is not working." Her friend said with a frustrating tone.

"Perhaps we lost it when coming here," Hermione said, unable to hide her troubled mind.

She felt broken without her magic. It had been something so wonderful, but so painful at the same time. She didn't know how to feel about losing it.

"Can you still feel it in your core?" Pro- Brynden said. He closed his book and fully turned his body to them. "We could try and find the core inside us."

"How?"

"It is very similar to mediation."

Hermione followed his instructions as she sat, leg crossed, on the wooden floor. It took her a long period of time to be able to clear her mind. She could not take away the fear and the strain the last battle left in her soul. The noises of the spells, the screams of heartbreak, the sound of bodies hitting the ground. Her mind wasn't the fully constructed library she had once built but a battlefield of blood and gore.

She felt lost admits the battle, unable to find a safe place. Her body wanted to fall to the ground. Her mind wasn't to sleep. Her soul wanted to cry. Hermione was close to giving up until someone appeared in front of her. Looking up, she felt her heart stop.

"Ron," she whispered tearfully.

"Hey, Mione."

Somehow her weak body found the energy to throw herself into his arms.

"I miss you, Ron."

"I know, Mione."

"Don't leave me alone."

"You know better, Hermione Granger."

Hermione looked into his blue eyes and found something strange in her first love. He was still tall and lanky, his hair the fiery red of the Weasley's, was cut just like the last time she saw him. His eyes, however, were lacked the vivacity she was used to.

"You're not my Ron."

Her Ron was dead.

"No. I'm a fragment of your mind" He spoke in a tone that sounded nothing like Ron but a lot like herself. "Your mind knows it needs me to guide you. So here I am."

That makes no sense. She wanted to say. Not-Ron still smelled like Ron, and she found his arms just as peaceful.

"That's it, Mione. Focus on me. I'll guide you."

She closed her eyes and just relaxed against his warm body.

Hermione didn't know how long she stayed in his arms. It felt like a second and an eternity. But tears eventually stopped, and her mind was calm. She remembered Ron's love for her, her parents', and Harry's. Margaret was still with her. Her first friend. She felt a feeling of warmth inside her. Her soul remembered the feeling of embracing a loved one. There were no tears left. She felt a feeling of inner peace that spread through her mind, heart, and soul.

"Yes. I can feel it," she whispered.

 _I can feel my magic, and it is so beautiful_. How did she not realize Magic was this beautiful and peaceful? _Can I feel like this forever?_

.

.

Hermione and Margaret ended up sharing a cabin, something the two sisters were doing before. There was a strange feeling of being inside a room where her body slept for a long time. She had no memories of it. She was still Hermione inside.

Margaret entered the room with a heavy expression. Hermione put down the book she was reading _, Lives of Four_ _Kings_. It was a book on History and a political treatise written by a Grand Maester Kaeth. There was a parchment amidst the pages with annotations on the various chapters. They were as interesting as the book, adding further information or objecting to the text.

However, she couldn't shake the strangeness that came with the fact that the calligraphy was identical to her own.

Hermione waited until Margaret threw herself into the bed and turned to look at her. Her green eyes held a sadness that was not familiar to the Muggleborn witch. She remained silent until Margaret felt comfortable enough to talk. Professor Severus – Brynden – was the first one to talk with Prince Maegor, for their conversation would be the less troubled one. They had talked for close to two hours while the girls read in their chambers, but soon Margaret was called.

It was well into the night. The conversation took longer than they thought, so Hermione's was postponed to tomorrow.

"We will be on land in three days for refuel and then depart to Asshai. The Shadow Lands are one of the few places where they can actually explain to us the magic of this world. Did you read about Shiera Seastar?"

"You would expect that a woman as famous as her would have more than a few words written about her. Mostly is about men fighting over her." Hermione couldn't keep the distaste from her voice.

"We are going to have to adapt, Mia," Margaret said with a careful tone. She looked to the roof as if looking for answers. "When I was young, I used to dream about having a prince swept me away from my aunt's house. I saw girls with pretty dresses and happy parents, and I envied them. I wanted that. I wanted a prince and fancy dresses and more money than I would be able to spend. The fortune came, and for a long time, I believe Theo to be my prince."

Hermione held her hand as her voice trembled. Margaret had not spoken of Theo since his death.

"I was going to marry him. He would become a potion or transfiguration professor or work at the department of Higher Mysteries. And I would study law, and you and I would become leaders of a better world. I would force Harry to study DADA because as much as he told everyone he wanted to be an Auror, he really didn't."

"He would be a wonderful professor. Ron would be a very good Auror. He was brilliant at strategy."

"I wanted two little girls to spoil. To give them the opportunities I didn't have. And a boy, perhaps. If he had my eyes and Theo's hair, he would be named Harry." Margaret's smile was sad and beautiful at the same time. "Harry would have as many kids as his wife would allow him."

"A boy and a girl," Hermione confessed, feeling the tears growing. She had never spoken about wanting children.

For most of her life, Hermione didn't consider being a mother in her plans. For most of her life, Hermione didn't consider being a mother in her plans. But at Malfoy Manor, in what she believed to be her last moments, her mind conjured many futures she wouldn't get to live.

"Ron spoke big about a son, but deep down, he would spoil a daughter. A little princess." Her daughter would have Ron's fiery hair but her untamed curls, her eyes, and Ron's freckles. "You and I would repeal all of those horrible laws. We would have girl lunches where we would argue about everything, and the boys would have late nights at Harry's to protests about our temperaments and terrible work hours."

Margaret gave a dry laugh at that.

"People would know us. We would have a legacy to be proud of." Her eyes were serious as she fixed them on Hermione's. "I want a legacy. I never wanted to be forgotten."

The naked ambition in Margaret's eyes was something she hid many times. Hermione knew it was because people tended to associate it with Slytherins. _How funny that the two most ambitious students were not snakes, but a lion and an eagle._

"Neither do I," Hermione conceded. "I want to be more the 'brightest witch of my age'. I want it to mean something."

Margaret nodded. "We'll study this damn world until it becomes ours. And we will be more than a few lines in some history page."

_Just not in the books we expected._

.

.

1st January, 278 AC

Hermione finished the words in the parchment with a heavy heart. Taking a deep breath, she read each carefully chosen word to herself. With a nod, she picked the red and gold ribbon, a stripe that she had ripped from her favorite Hogwarts tie. She tied it around the rolled parchment, letting her tears fall from her eyes.

 _I feel like I've been crying for a year_. _When does grief end? When the pain does go away?_

She got up from her dark chair, glad that soon they would leave this terrible city. Asshai did little to heal her soul. The city where darkness thrives seemed to crave her suffering. Her magic also disliked the place.

"I'm ready," Hermione told herself as she stared at the mirror.

She was not lying. Hermione was more than ready for it to be over. After the celebration, they would finally leave Asshai.

She dressed up for the occasion. Apparently, Maggie got them a closet larger than what she imaged Narcissa Malfoy's to be. Wanting to channel the Gryffindor inside, Hermione picked a crimson silk gown with a pussy bow at the front and bishop sleeves. From what they had been taught, most of the clothes would be inappropriate. The dress covered her body, but it was nearly impossible to wear in their new world.

Hermione liked it, so she decided to wear it at least once.

"Me too."

Hermione turned to the voice.

At the door, Margaret was clad in Ravenclaw blue. The velvet gown was probably one she could wear in this world. It was high necked and full-sleeved, but it cut to show her shoulders. It was trim in black velvet worked with silver thread, and the sleeves showed the black lining.

Margaret's hair was a silver banner that hit the lower of her back while thanks to some sorcery unknown to Hermione, Maggie managed to work Hermione's curls into a French twist.

They were both ready.

Margaret's confident façade was broken when she offered her a shaking hand.

They walked into the night. The place was eerily quiet. No one walked at night in the city of Asshai. The dark city was forbidding. Margaret had once joked it was a larger Mordor but everything she imagined the fabled place to be like.

_I hate this place. I hate the blood magic they use and the dangerous things they do with it. I hate that there are slaves and the lack of children. I hate the lack of happiness in this place._

Asshai was a good place to spread hatred in one's heart.

Two bodies waited for them is by the Ash River. The river was black and the water impossible to drink. Each member of the group had their own theories of what happened to this city. They might disagree in most, but all agree that it was something terrible and had to do with uncontrolled magic. Someone dug deep into what was better off buried.

Severus, or Brynden, as they had taken to call him in public, waited for them in black velvet robes – wizard robes – that were lined in dark green. They were simple but finely made. The woman next to him was the only one that had to cover her face in the strange masks of Asshai. Her hair was unbound but mostly hidden in the hood. The white that picked through contrasted with the rest of the place. She was clad in a gown of pale red silk and a blood-red velvet billowing cloak, common garments in Asshai by the Shadow.

A city of two colors. Black and Red. Red and Black. Learning Targaryen's family history, the irony wasn't lost on her.

"Does anyone wish to say something?" The melodic voice said. Her mismatched eyes were much more solemn than usual. "I do not know how it was done in your land."

After a long silence, Margaret was the first one to move. She placed her parchment in one of the small boats. Her back was rod straight as she faced the river.

Hermione was surprised to hear her speak.

"Here lies Margaret Lilith Potter. Ravenclaw. Sister to the Boy-Who-Lived. She was eighteen. She had a dim life, but she found moments of happiness amidst all."

Margaret pushed the little boat onto the water. It floated through the darkness, illuminated by the small candles they had placed around them. After some time, Margaret shot a little flame from her hand that hit the boat. They watched it burn away.

Margaret pushed the little boat onto the water. It floated through the darkness, illuminated by the small candles they had placed around them. After some time, Margaret shot a little flame from her hand that hit the boat. They watched it burn away. There was no comment on the pale color of the flames.

Hermione followed her friend's actions.

"Here lies Hermione Jean Granger. Gryffindor. Know-it-all and all-around bossy. She was eighteen when she died." As she let her own boat go, she added. "She was brilliant but scary."

 _Hermione Jean Granger, daughter of Doctor Hugo Philip Granger and Doctor Helen Rose Granger. Member of the Wizengamot and first British muggle-born delegate in the International Confederation of Wizards. She was called the brightest witch of her age, and together with Minister of Magic, Margaret Lilith Potter-Nott, ushered the country into a new age after the Second Wizard World. She wed Ronald Weasley, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, with whom she had two children: Rose and Hugo Granger-Weasle_ y.

_She is remembered for her numerous contributions to the law and the doors she opened in the world of politics. Her legacy, however, is in her unrelenting fight against the discriminated: the acceptance of squibs into the magic world, the victory to repeal any law against werewolves, and her life-long crusade to free elves._

It was what Hermione wrote on the parchment. Her unlived dream life. It was that life she was watching burn away.

"Severus." The white-haired woman spoke in an encouraging tone.

It didn't escape their notice that Shiera Seastar never called their former professor by his new name. The two spent much of their time with each other company. Shiera Seastar spent her life studying herblore and healing and many other subjects, dedicating her life to study the arts of healing and the occult. The professor, in all likelihood, wanted to learn all she knew. Margaret had less platonic speculation.

They had invited the professor to join them in the ' _funeral of their previous lives'_ , but Hermione was surprised when he agreed. She had expected him to call their idea foolish.

Severus did the same process but in silence until Margaret rolled her eyes and started to speak.

"Here lies, Professor Severus Snape. He was a Potions and DADA teacher. Slytherin. Double-agent. He wasn't very liked by his students but he gave his life for them."

Severus' dark eyes were fixed on Margaret. Hermione expected a protest, instead, he finished with a,

"He was thirty-eight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The link to this storyboard   
> https://www.pinterest.pt/margot1996david/the-crown-of-kings/


	3. Shiera I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wedding Bells. 
> 
> A couple is caught in the act. 
> 
> Shiera makes a choice, doesn't understand why everyone wants to speak of dirt and then decides to have a bath.

Chapter 3 – Shiera I

_8th March, 278 AC_

Shiera woke to a little sound in the house. The light curtains revealed that the sun was still hidden from view.

Once, a lifetime ago, Shiera was a terrible morning person. Brynden was the one who woke before the sun, while she enjoyed the warmth of their bed and a long hot bath before even beginning to complement her day.

That was before Asshai. Before sleep became a rare necessity of her body.

The man resting beside her was snorting softly. Soon he would be up. She moved her body towards his, and she could feel the humming of his magic. So different from her Brynden. Severus's magic, much like the girls, was a soft caress. Brynden's felt like a trill that was both dark and alluring.

Shiera loved both feelings.

The fair-haired woman pulled back a strand of black hair from Severus' features. Always Severus, never Brynden.

They don't look _that_ alike. Even if they had the same coloring, there would be differences. 

Besides, while Severus was proving to be a great lover, much better than she expected, they were both aware that their relationship wasn't based on passion but companionship.

Shiera had enough passion, but she rarely a partner that understood.

There was Brynden. Until he left her. His unwavering loyalty and iron duty were never first and foremost given to her. It was what she loved the most about the man many called Bloodraven, but also what she hated the most.

Just like she expected. It ended them. And him.

Severus' love and loyalty belonged to a woman long dead. Lily Evans. Her lover rarely spoke of her. But when he did, the woman sounded like a perfect flower. To perfect to be real.

Shiera Seastar was well aware of how man tended to turn women into perfect virtuous creatures. They never were.

Severus was too much of a realist to actually believe it.

Straightening her body, Shiera got up from the bed. Founding a silk dressing gown on the floor, she covered her nakedness with it and ventured outside.

There weren't that many servants working at such an early hour. Especially in the royal apartments, but she soon passed by a dark-skinned woman that Alysanne had freed and now hear her money serving her a maid who told her that Princess Rhaena was awake in the painting room.

The painting room was the chamber where Morello, the painter they had hired from Tyrosh to paint the portraits commissioned by Rhaena. Morello ended up agreeing to stay and teach two of the girls they had saved from the pirate ships.

Princess Rhaena was in the chamber, staring at a canvas. Shiera strode to her side to be able to see the painting.

"What do you think?"

The painting was of Rhaena, sitting down and turned sideways. The painting was in romantic tones of white, rose, and blues. Rhaena wore a long, sleeveless shift. The strap turned to the painter was falling from her shoulder. While the painting portrait her as an almost angelical creature, still said,

"You look like the Maiden reborn, but I wouldn't say that is you."

"At least I have clothes on. I could very well be only wearing a sheet."

"And shock the entire Known World. You're a princess, not a Lysine bed slave."

"A princess," she scoffed. "A pretty ornament to be locked in a tower. A true Rapunzel."

"A what?"

"A child's tale from my world. Hermione liked it."

"Alysanne doesn't a painting like this one, right?"

Shiera truly hoped not. Of the two travels, Rhaena was the one who adapted the better to this world. But, despite Alysanne's dislike for what she called the patriarchy and sexist world, Rhaena was the one who tended to be more scandalous in terms of proper behavior. At least when she was with the inner circle.

This painting, however.

"No. She would never allow such a risky thing."

A swirl of pink silk caught Shiera's eyes as the princess walked into the messy table. Shiera still couldn't turn away from the painting. The more she looked, the more she noticed. Rhaena's face was the picture of a melancholic princess that knights fought duels for in hopes of earning a happy smile for a favor.

Perhaps the painting wasn't at all a bad idea. There was tremendous power in imagine perception. Rhaena understood it very well and knew how to manipulate it better than most courtiers she met. A good trait for a princess. Alysanne cared little for perception or social hierarchy. That was troublesome in a woman and dangerous in a bastard.

"Hermione understands what society expects of her better than what you imagine. She merely chooses to ignore it." Rhaena gave her a smirk. "I would expect Shiera Seastar to understand her better than most people."

So they weren't blind to the tension. "I do understand her. I've been called every name in the book, and gods know what people will say about me when I am dust. But Hermione's position is not mine." Shiera walked away from the hypnic painting and joined the princess. "I had the most powerful man by my side and a king who was as scandalous as me. When Maekar took the Throne, he was too dependant on Brynden and me to toss us out."

"Hermione won't care what King sits his arse on the throne or what society says she must be. She will make her own path."

"And so will you."

Something calculating moved in her eyes. "What news do you have from Westeros?"

"The king is quarreling with his Hand. He called Lord Baratheon to court. He announced that his old friend must travel to Essos and find his heir a princess with the proper Valyrian blood."

"I have no desire to be the ornament of a moody prince, especially when the King is mad."

"Many in the kingdom still see you as the heir, and you are third in line now that Prince Viserys was born."

"I am still fourth in line." She said in a cutting tone.

"Either way, everyone in Westeros is expecting you to marry the prince. Besides, tales of your travels and deeds have spread, and the smallfolk likes you."

"I am sure that little birds must be singing my praises." She said with a dry tone.

"They will be here, at best in three to four months. If you plan to live in Westeros, you have to marry the prince."

"What if this Lord Baratheon arrives and finds a married princess?"

Shiera stared at her, trying to find the joke. There was none.

"The king would not be pleased."

"Why not? I am just a foolish girl in love with her pretty knight. I did grew-up with Daemion. It happens."

Shiera saw the narrative in front of her eyes. "A Velaryon? They might not be powerful anymore, but they have strong ties to the Targaryen and the crown. Still, you wouldn't be more than knight's wife."

"With lands to inherit on my own right. Daemion won't control me. He knows better."

"You could be queen."

"Of a fractioned realm. Aerys is mad, and Rhaegar cares nothing for rulership. Half of the country is building an alliance. You said it so yourself. I can already imagine the headache."

Headache? She had to be kidding with her.

"Shiera, I won't be an ornament to be locked away in a castle. There are other ways to gain power."

"I don't agree, I think you're making a mistake."

"I don't need you to agree. I am simply informing you as my confidant. I will marry Daemion as fast as possible."

"Good. You better be with child by the time Baratheon gets here."

"Your world makes me want to throw up."

"Do it away from me. I like this robe."

.

.

_14th March, 278 AC_

Severus had not come to her bed in days. He had stopped doing so the moment Rhaena announced her marriage at the dinner table, a day after their talk.

The princess spent her time between her work and organizing the wedding. Alysanne Waters occupied most of her time at Maegor's bedside or in the library they had built. Both still shared a bed chamber that Shiera couldn't get inside to spy.

While she expected the judgment from Alysanne, it never came. After the loud arguing that happened at that dinner, she expected it, but it never came. Alysanne Waters seemed to be ignoring the fact that her sister would soon be married.

Shiera could deal with it, Severus ignoring her, she could not.

Striding with a propose, Shiera's confidence grew with each lustful gaze she received. She would end this silence and have Severus' skilled hands back into her bed.

The dark-haired man was in the room he declared as his lab. Tidily organized, the place was kept at a cold temperature that she hated. He was currently focused on whatever was inside the kettle. At the table next to him was a sign that made her freeze at the door.

Ella Hightower stood at the counter, crushing some bean-like fruit. She was clad in one of the velvet coats that everyone wore in the labs. Hers was made of black velvet, which contrasted greatly against her blonde hair, styled in a practical bun at the nape of her neck. Despite having lived for four decades, Ella still carried some of the beauty that acclaimed her in her youth. She carried herself with an aura of intellectual handsomeness that was charming and desirable at her age.

Ella and Severus made a handsome couple. But looking up close, one could see the heaviness that marked Ella's face. The visage of a widower, something she soon would feel in truth.

The Hightower was present in the manse when they had arrived, adding even more discomfort to the situation. A woman not given to outburst, Ella grieved in the privacy of her chambers. She had tried many times to connect with her not-daughter. When Prince Maegor was forced into a bed, the two began to connect more deeply, as grief tended to do. Shiera encouraged them to connect. The Gods knew Ella didn't need to lose her daughter as well. Perhaps, she could instruct Alysanne in the costumes she should follow.

 _I would still prefer that she knew nothing of it._ _But Hightowers, for such religious connected people, tended to be more open-minded to the magical ways of the world_.

"Lady Shiera."

"Lady Ella." She said neutrally, then turned to the man who finally noticed her.

Shiera almost pouted at the lack of reaction. She dressed herself to impressed. The silk of her white gown was gauzy and draped around her body to perfection. The hourglass-shaped bodice allowed her to show her off generous breasts and small waist.

Ella's small grin showed that she understood what Shiera was doing.

Severus showed little reaction. Brynden would tear it off my body and have his way with me, demanding his guards not to interrupt him unless a royal died.

"I think I should see if Maegor is feeling better. Ser Brynden, thank you for allowing me to assist you." Ella left, barely keeping her smile off her face.

Shiera wanted to throw the kettle off the table, for her lover seemed to be more content in looking at him than her. I cannot believe this. She fought the urge to drip her gown off her body.

"Severus." She used the fake cheerfulness that always seemed to annoy him. It worked.

"Shiera. What can I do for you?"

"You've been spending too much time in the lab. Your bed is getting cold."

"I slept just fine last night." He hummed as he stared at his potion.

One. Two. Three. Four- "Why aren't you coming to my bed?"

Severus took a deep breath. "You are too clever not to know why."

"Rhaena's marriage. You're displeased with it. You cannot blame me for it, for I am against it."

"You would prefer to see her wed off to a prince."

"I would prefer her being a Queen."

Severus added a green plant to the liquid and finally turned to her. His eyes were cold.

"My world is not like yours. Women are not sold off like cattle for many decades. Unless you are a pureblood, women are free to marry whomever they wished. Or not marry at all."

Shiera would love to live in a place like their world.

"You don't leave there anymore."

"You can take the girl out of the country, but you can't get the country out of the girl," he muttered.

"She is a princess. She has a duty to do."

"Her father seems well pleased with her pick," Severus countered.

_Of course, he would. Maegor wanted nothing to do with the Iron Throne. Not after the Castamere._

"Daemion is the second son of a minor house. He is not worthy of princess no matter how loyal he is to Maegor."

 _Or pretty to look at._ He had been named well. Shiera hadn't seen such a handsome man since Daemon died.

"Velaryons wed Targaryen many times."

"Another time, Severus. The last one was more than a century ago. I might understand her not wanting to wed the prince. But there are many worthier men in Westeros."

"Men that would want to marry her claim. Men that would make the King wonder if she was plotting against him. There is no security in it."

"Security? Is this what this is about?"

"Perhaps. Margaret seems to get well with Daemion. She isn't in love. Not even close. She still grieves for Theodore. But with time, it can be. She can be truthful with Daemion. Can she be all that with another man?"

"Daemion cannot give her security. No matter how skilled he is with a sword."

"Who says Margaret or even Hermione cannot protect themselves? They have money to last for several generations and more. They have the brains to use it as an advantage."

Shiera knew there was no point in arguing the mistake Rhaena was making. She had tried.

"Is this why you aren't avoiding my bed?"

Something changed in his expression. The aloofness was giving away to sternness. "I taught those girls. I was cold and at times cruel to them, but they saved my life when no one else would. The day we performed the spell, I vowed that I would protect them and allow them to leave the life that was robbed from them. Being forced to marry at an age when they should be enjoying life and discovering themselves isn't protecting their happiness."

Shiera wanted to kiss him at that moment. Severus could be the coldest of men with the truest of hearts.

"It is hard for me. I gave the little loyalty that I had in me to Brynden and his legacy. He wanted Aegon on the throne above Maegor, but he wouldn't want this Aerys. We were planning to make Princess Daenora queen and her sister before. Women in my family have been passed over on the succession far too many times. The Stark's of old had a law that didn't allow women to inherit on their own right. I don't want that to the Seven Kingdoms."

"You want to end agnatic seniority."

"What?"

"Male only inheritance."

"Oh! I do want that. There aren't laws in Westeros that prohibit women from ruling. Yet, they are constantly denied of it. It makes me mad."

Severus gave her one of his short smiles. "You have more in common with Hermione than either of you want to admit." He gave her a stern look. "That is not permission to scheme to make her a queen."

"Westeros wouldn't except a female bastard as queen, must less one that acts as Alysanne."

"Miss Granger was always an independent woman and unafraid to act like it. Margaret feels the same but is more willing to appear otherwise."

"What about you, professor?" Shiera moved until she stood between the table and his body. His hands immediately wrapped around her waist. "Should I find you a pretty wife?"

"Don't even joke about it."

"Perhaps I should make a list of candidates."

"Gods, I had enough from Narcissa."

"Who is Narcissa?" What is with this man and woman named after flowers?

He raised his eyebrow before pulled her to a kiss that was too short. "The wife of a former associate of mine."

Shiera hummed, trying to ignore the little jealous burning inside her. Severus nipped her lip, and soon her hummed charged tone.

"Severus, do you have - Oh, Merlin!"

The speed at which he moved away from her was incredible, had he not taken away her warm feeling with him. Princess Rhaena stood by the door clad in a one-shoulder red gown and purple shawl fashioned in the Volantene style. She must have gone into the city. Considering the three large scrolls she carried, Shiera was sure it was not to find a wedding gown.

"Miss Margaret."

"Professor," the Princess did not try to hide the slyness in her expression, "I didn't know you were occupied. I can come back later."

_Please do._

"No. Lady Shiera and I were just talking." His discomfort resembled more a green boy than the composed scholar he was. "What do you need?"

Whatever discomfort she felt, Rhaena pushed it away in favor of books. She put the scrolls on an empty table and got one of them opened.

"I found some interesting texts in the city's library. I need you to read this essay I found about the difference between the soil of Westeros and that of West Essos. I believe I found the reason why we can't grow the plans."

 _You came here to talk about dirt._ Shiera wanted to scoff at her princess. Apparently, dirt talk was something Severus wanted to have.

"Did you find any references to minerals?"

"Yes. Westeros has richer soil than most of Essos, that is why-"

Shiera locked whatever they were saying. She might love her books and knowledge most scoff at, but talk about dirt was too much even for her.

Before she left, Shiera couldn't help her smile at the two of them, bending over the text.

.

.

Shiera was relaxing in a tub when Severus entered the chamber. He froze at the door and was about to leave when she called his name.

"Nothing you haven't seen before." She said cheekily. "There is space for another one." She raised her wet leg and pointed towards him. "Join me?"

"Later," he tensed. "I need to speak with you."

She could see this wouldn't be a pleasant conversation. "Talk."

"After the wedding, we need to go to Westeros."

She turned her body so that her face was close to him. "Why the worry?"

"There are ingredients that I need to plant that will only grow in Westerosi soil. I believe."

Shiera's alchemist soul awoke. "What type of ingredient."

Severus had spoken of many plants that Shiera never heard that had properties that could change the world. If they could plant some of those, the implications were too enormous to contemplate.

"Rhaena should write to Daenora. She can get the rooms ready."

"Have you decided if you're coming with us?"

"I cannot go looking like this."

"Well. I would put on some clothes."

Shiera splashed him. "That not what I meant. My appearance is will known in Westeros."

"Says the most beautiful one-hundred-year-old." He came to sit closer to her. "From what you told me, you can change your appearance."

"With glamours. But there is a great difference between stop the aging process and changing one's appearance. The latter is much harder."

"I might have some elixirs that can help you. Not change completely, but perhaps some of the most noticeable traits. And you can always dye your hair. Hermione has some eye lenses that change eyes color in her bag."

"That can help. I'll talk to her, tomorrow."

Severus entered fully into the room, coming to kneel before the tub.

"You don't need to come."

"Yes, I do. I dedicated my life to studying. I wasn't like your students who teach others." Alysanne was teaching the slaves the letters and numbers. Even the older ones. "I was greedy with my knowledge, but perhaps I can change."

She had lived too long. Regret followed her everywhere.

Severus called his new life a second chance. Perhaps, I can have it as well.

"I never wanted children, but if I had them, I wish to have a daughter." Severus's dark eyes softened. "I will need a new name. I shall be Melisandre."


	4. Margaret II / Rhaena I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaret comes to terms with her new life. Or tries to.  
> There is also a wedding.

Chapter 4

_25 th March 278 AC_

Hermione was staring at her as she entered the room.

Her best friend looked beautiful in her cerulean gown. The stolen gown was from the Regency era. The high waist and wide square neckline made Hermione seem taller and emphasized her chest.

To Hermione's displeasure, Alysanne Targaryen was even smaller standing at 164 cm. Margaret couldn't joke about it. Since, despite being the taller of the two, she had lost some centimeters as well.

“Are you wearing a hairnet?” Margaret couldn’t contain her gleefulness.

Hermione's curls were a mix of shades of gold with some hints of silver. Ella Hightower's hair was a light blonde with hints of grey, but according to her, in her youth, that hair was the color of honey. The unruly curls came from the Dornish inheritance, something that Margaret shared, but thankfully were tamer.

The hairnet that somehow constricted her hair was made of silver thread, and from what she could see, decorated with pearls. The crescent-shaped headband was embellished with a blue thread the same shade as her dress and pearls. 

“Do you like it?” Hermione asked, amused by her words. 

“Now I want a French hood.”

“You can get a hood tomorrow. We have other things to decide on,” Shiera said, gesturing to the table.

The women in the room had been observing the sets of jewelry. Margaret had exhibited for them to pick, and it seemed that some were put aside already. 

Mia protested at wearing extravagant jewelry. Margaret still remembered the argument the two of them got over the number of jewels Margaret had packed. Incredible, it wasn’t from the pieces they own that she picked her accessories from, but from Shiera’s collection. Simple but refine earrings, each with a pearl and an emerald. It brought the green in her eyes, and it went well with the simplicity but elegance she was projected.

Shiera was sitting comfortably in a pillowed settee, a glass of red wine in hand. Her pink gown embroidered with gold was cut in a much more revealing style, favored by the Lysine and the Old Blood of Volantis. Her large gold belt was made of interlinking snakes with small emerald eyes. It went very well with the massive gold bracelet shaped like a snake that enrolled around her wrist and a part of her arm. Her silver hair was free and curling down, hitting her small waist.

Margaret was pleased Shiera hadn't picked today to debut her red hair and wasn't wearing it either. Her silver-gold hair was pulled in a knotty half updo with golden jewelry, the other part felt down her on her left side.

Shiera looked more beautiful than breathtaking, and Margaret was very pleased with it. Call her petty, but she wanted everyone’s eyes on her.

“How do we like the final project?”

“You look otherworldly,” Shiera told her with a grin.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

Contrary to them, Margaret posed for them in a gown of pure white satin and silk.

There had been some protests, by Shiera, over her choice of wearing a gown, not of this world. Margaret had her decision made despite it. 

The A-line gown could be considered simple, if not for the bodice. Fitted and laced to her figure, the craft was in the delicate embroidered: a flowery design with lace and seed pearls that shone with the help of little crystals. 

Was this how she imagined her wedding to be? No. Not even the dress was right. While it was beautiful and fitted her frame perfectly, Margaret didn’t get the feeling of it being _that_ dress. ~

Something was missing.

_Harry isn’t here. Harry should be here._

“Have you decided on the jewels?”

“Not emeralds.” She replied drily, eyeing her best friend and the woman who was slowly becoming a mentor figure.

Margaret approached the exposed jewels and looked between them.

“I wouldn’t go with the sapphires,” Shiera said, noticing how her eyes stayed in the diamond and sapphires. “You should go with rubies or garnet.”

“No.”

There would be no red at her wedding. Red was too much associated with Gryffindor to her. With blood.

“Pearls,” Hermione suggested, pointing to the set next to her.

It was a delicate set of a necklace and earrings, with a flower motif, made of diamonds and pearls.

“It would look perfect with the dress,” Margaret told Mia with a smile.

She got the box from the table and walked to the dressing vanity. Making sure her skirts were straightened she sat and put on the earrings.

Hermione was already behind her by the time she finished, necklace in hand. Margaret was pleased Hermione took the initiative, and even more when she asked Shiera for the veil.

She locked eyes with Mia. It had been the first time her friend helped her with silly wedding things. Both knew why.

Wedding veils were common in Dornish weddings and some Essosi as well, but hers from her world. Sheer organza, with a cathedral cut, the border was embroidered with white lilies and silver beading.

As Hermione followed Shiera’s instructions on putting the veil, she felt it again. There was a vacancy in this day, one that she couldn’t shake away as much as she tried.

_Harry should be here._

Hermione squeezed her shoulder, and she realized she must have zoned off again.

Mia gave her an encouraging nod. Shiera must have seen it, but the women had made no comment on her red eyes when she came into their room this morning. 

Hermione was the one who stayed up all night holding her as she broke down. There was no reason to explain the tears. Her best friend knew what caused them. Probably better than Margaret herself.

 _Did women usually cried before their marriage?_ She didn’t know. Fleur and Bill’s wedding was the only one she attended in her life. Her French friend had been a glowing bride, a bubble of happiness and love that couldn’t be contained.

Margaret was sorrowful and slightly depressed.

“It is missing a tiara,” Shiera said.

“I think I got a perfect one,” Margaret said while her fingers trailed the necklace.

The woman in the mirror looked perfect. All she imagined a princess to look like on her wedding day. She forced her lips into a smile. It wasn’t Fleur’s smile, not even close. But it didn’t look as heavy-hearted as she felt.

.

.

_16th March 278_

With his pallid complexion and weight loss, Prince Maegor looked frail and about to fall over his chair, but his eyes were still as sharp as ever.

The wheelchair Hermione commissioned for him allowed him to move about despite his condition, and the potions Severus bred kept him conscious.

At least for now.

Daemion Velaryon sat facing him. She had not been pleased by it. It forced her to sit in between them but slightly away. It wasn't something they did out of unkindness, which made their natural reaction to disregard her even more frustrating.

She masked her feeling in a pleasant smile and took her seat.

“There is much to discuss about the wedding.” She announced.

There was much to discuss regarding their wedding day. Traditions she had to learn, invitations to be given, plans that need to be put in place.

Margaret was well aware they had probably been taking for some time now, so she didn’t allow them to speak. She had a list of issues to go over with them and would not let this conversation be turned again to dowries or her lessons with Septa Leona.

The lessons were infuriating enough without having to speak about it.

After her first lesson with the pious woman, she spoke with Lady Ella Hightower.

House Hightower was known for its connections with the Faith of the Seven. Ella's uncle was a Septon, and so was her only brother. The pious lady, raided by religious members, refused to wed, opting to become a long-term mistress and maintain independence unknown to most in this land.

Ella Hightower was the best choice to introduce Hermione to the religion of Westeros. 

The last thing Margaret needed was Mia attacking a Septa when they were supposed to be following the Faith of the Seven.

“Firstly, we need to speak about the ceremony itself.”

“The Septon agreed to perform the ceremony in a temple. But we should have another ceremony in a true sept in Westeros. What more there is to speak of?” Her soon to be husband spoke and then offered her a charming smile. “Dressing and flower arrangements?”

Margaret hid her fisted hand amidst her skirts.

They argued back and forward about it. Margaret cared little for religion. However, she refused to bend to everything Daemion desired without having some of her traditions added.

There was no Sept despite having many different religions. They would wed in a temple of Old Valyria, the religion of their ancestors. Having the blood of formal dragonlords gave them prestige and allowed them many liberties in the city. Because of it, the wedding that was supposed to be simple became a show.

_Smile and bear it._

They had found a traveling Septon to perform the rite, and one of the members of the Triarchy – the three ruling Magisters – would be present. The legal documents would bind their marriage. Margaret knew the vows to perfection by now.

“No,” she said in a clear tone. “Certain customs. While I have many problems with the vows, they are not very different from those performed by the Christian church. I am well aware I cannot change those.”

Daemion’s usual charming gaze turned sterner. Still, he couldn’t intimidate her. Raised under the Faith of the Seven, Daemion wanted a wedding according to it. He had expected it.

“There is nothing to change.”

“I refuse to have you putting a cloak on me.”

“No!”

“I am keeping my name, and our children will belong to both of our Houses.”

It had been the argument in their previous meeting.

Prince Maegor made her promise to keep the Targaryen name and that her children would have it as well. Daemion had little opportunity of inheriting a title but was against it. He wanted sons to carry on his name.

Prince Maegor made her promise to keep the Targaryen name and that her children would have it as well. Daemion had little opportunity of inheriting a title but was against it. He wanted sons to carry on his name. The two men argued for too damn long, their patriarchic pride feeding their quarrel.

Margaret proposed a compromise.

To her, it was obvious: the children would carry both names. Of course, it resulted in another quarrel about which surname would go last. It had taken most of her patience to watch both of them coming up with arguments that would serve to fuel the patriarchal culture, and their control and male pride, and little to do with much else.

Prince Maegor won: Velaryon-Targaryen it would be.

“The cloak symbolizes the transition from being a daughter of a house to the husband of another. It shows that you will belong to me and not to your father.”

Margaret would look back on that moment later on and be surprised she lasted this long without an outburst. Only Hermione heard her protest about misogyny, and because her best friend was the louder against it. Yet, Margaret never associated the marriage talks with it, or Mia would lose her mind or convince her from going through with the wedding.

“I belong to myself!” She jumped from her seat. Her fists pounded on the oak table. “I don’t care what you previously believed. What you were taught. I care little for your families legacies or the country you wish to return to-”

She took a forbidding breath and turned her glare to Daemion. “I am marrying you because we want to go to Westeros. I am marrying you to protect myself and Hermione from being forced into situations that would force us to wed people who wouldn’t understand our ways. I am marrying you to keep my money and my enterprise. I am marrying you because you allow me to keep doing my work as long as I allow you to fuck me from time to time.”

“Rhaena,” Prince Maegor protested, scandalized with her language and behavior.

“It is what this is about. You want to make sure you have grandchildren with your name. He wants to have heirs that are princes. But both of you keep in mind that you need this marriage much more than I do.”

A heavy silence grew in the room after her snap.

“Fine. There will be no cloaking ceremony.” Daemion snapped and was about to get up, but she stopped him.

“I am not finished.”

“What else do you wish that will cause many to doubt our marriage?”

“Don’t even try, Daemion. I read the Code of Law. Viserys the Second ruling on marriage legality made it clear that marriages are recognized when performed close to a religious site, in the presence of at least two witnesses, preferably a member of each family, and a legal binding document.” 

Hermione had read the Code of Law with the same passion she read _Hogwarts, A History_ , and Margaret read it as well. For the first months, they used to discuss the laws before going to bed.

“You have 100 witnesses, a Septon, and a very legal document. With the consummation, no one will be able to annul it.”

Maegor Targaryen’s purple eyes glinted as she spoke. Her future husband conceded, despite his frustration.

Theirs wouldn’t be an easy marriage. 

Daemion would usually share an afternoon stroll with her and a lunch where they walked about what each wanted. Hermione called it a Victorian courtship. They talked about much and more. However, despite the clear attraction, Margaret could see cracks already forming.

“I re-read the marriage contract. There is something I wish to add.”

“More you mean,” Daemion spoke, his displeasure unmasked.

“Our children. I want it written that they will not be wed until the age of eighteen.”

Margaret wanted them to never be made to wed unless they wished to. But she knew it would be a lost fight.

“Four-and-ten.”

“Six-and-ten is considered the age of majority. Prince Maegor offered. He clearly was tired from the constant arguments.

Sixteen. At sixteen, Margaret Potter had lost most of those she considered family, fought against Death Eaters and was prepared to fight in a war. But most sixteen years old barely knew what they wished to do the next day, much less for their entire lives.

She had gone through the Targaryen family tree, but unfortunately, it was hard to find a Targaryen that wed later than sixteen. And they were all men.

“Seventeen. After a year of courtship.”

“They likely will be betrothed at a young age. Courtship means little.”

_Our children will not be sold like cattle,_ she wanted to scream

“I won’t have my children arranged to marry terrible people.”

“I would never-”

“What if you have a daughter betrothed to a boy who turns to be cruel? I won’t allow my children to be abuse by their partners.”

“I give you my word that I will never allow our children married to people like that. They can wed at seventeen, after a year of courtship, but if needed, they will be bothered at a younger age.”

“I agree. But, I want it stipulated they won’t be bothered to people with more than ten years their age.”

Ten years.

A decade.

She imagined a petite seventeen-year-old girl and a man of twenty-seven. It made something turn in her stomach.

The two men seemed to be exchanging looks between them.

“I won’t discuss the age. Is take it or leave it.” Her voice was stern enough to have them agree.

After they finished the contract, Margaret spent an hour alone, first in meditation. When that didn’t calm her, she turned to yoga. Eventually, Mia found her sleep in the room.

.

.

_25 th March 278 AC_

Margaret was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t see the man enter the room, much less the doorknob.

Severus seemed shocked at seeing her, but his expression was quickly masked. Shiera whispered something at him, and Margaret took that time to look at him.

Shiera had picked his clothes. Instead of his robes, he was clad in a sleeveless overcoat made of the darkest of dark green. Beneath, he wore calf-high black boots, tight-fitting trousers of the same color, and a black damask coat with a stand-up collar that was decorated with beadwork in dark green and silver that remembered snake snakes.

“We should go,” Shiera told Mia.

Her friend gave her one last searching look, only leaving when Margaret nodded her agreement.

The two of them stood in uncomfortable silence.

Prince Maegor’s health deteriorated. He could barely stand. Severus brew some potions so he could attend the marriage of his daughter to his formal squire. But he was physically unable to take her to the aisle.

Maegor had asked his “old friend” Ser Brynden to take his place. Margaret had suggested it to the prince, embarrassed to ask the professor herself.

Somehow, he agreed. Magaret tried not to be too pleased about it, but she had to confess to herself that she rather have him than Prince Maegor.

Unable to get through this situation with a clear mind, Margaret walked to the drinking table. Margaret poured them some whiskey. The bottle was barely open, for the three women were celebrating with some fine champagne before.

It wasn’t the time for champagne. Margaret offered Severus a glass.

“To my unexpected wedding.” They cheered with little joy.

“Mis- Margaret,” his voice deepened when he called her name. “There is still time to cancel.”

She drank it all up. “No, there isn’t. I thank you for your words all the same.”

He took a step closer to her and seemed to be searching for something in her expression. She was a pile of nerves, but she tried to show him that nothing would change her mind.

“If you wish to go through with it. I will not stop you.”

With his words, she found the courage to ask, “Do you think my mother would be disappointed with me for this?”

His dark gaze soften.

“She would prefer you married for love, but this situation doesn’t allow it. She would be reluctant, but Lily would embrace your decision.”

“I know things like this are common in the pureblood society.” He nodded. “Tell me of some couple that worked it out.”

 _All I can think about Theo’s father and his mother_ _._ The woman had died of illness, but Theo had made it very clear that his father was to blame. He never specified, but Theo had been the one who found her body.

“Narcissa and Lucius.” 

She was pleased when the man didn’t raise an eyebrow at the second glass. He just tilted his cup in her direction.

“They knew each other from youth. But Lucius had wondering eyes and a reputation before they wed. Narcissa wasn’t even supposed to be the one marrying him.”

“Really?”

She remembered the poised, perfect couple. In truth, it was hard to imagine them married to other people.

"Andromeda was promised to Lucius. But when she ran away to wed Ted Tonks, Narcissa took her place. She wasn't happy."

Narcissa Malfoy didn't seem the type of woman be pleased with being the second choice, even more, when the first pick was her sister.

"They eventually worked it out. How?"

"Time, companionship. The first decade of their marriage wasn't easy. Narcissa had trouble birthing a son. Then there was the war. But their troubles and pains brought them together."

"Speaking of troubles birthing. Do you have the potion?"

From a hidden pocket, her former professor took a vile with a colorless potion.

"I still don't know how I agree to bred this."

"Because I would brew it myself if you didn't. And my experience in brewing fertility potions is none."

"It might not work." He still seemed uncertain.

"I will take it until it works." She looked at the vile and imagined little children laughing. She didn't know how she felt about it, except the breathlessness. "I need to do this. I rather have it now."

 _I can't deal with Daemion trying to have a child every night._ The Velaryon knight was in all likelihood the handsome man she met, and her body wanted him, but her heart -

 _I should be Theo. My Theo. No! No tears!_

Margaret Potter could have married Theodore Nott. But Rhaena Targaryen was going to marry Daemion Velaryon.

Severus gave her the vile, she took it with shaking hands, raising her skirts she placed it in the pocket in her hidden holster, next to her dagger.

Margaret took a deep breath, pulled herself and her clothes, together and linked her arms with Severus Snape.

"Let's get me married," she said, getting her bouquet of lilies.

.

.

Margaret forced herself to smile at something someone had said. She barely kept herself together during the event. According to tradition, Hermione’s place was not next to her, but Prince Maegor, making the wedding party even more difficult.

The ceremony, she barely remembered. For some seconds, she would forget it, but in her hand was the evidence of it. The only tradition she was allowed to have from her previous life. A wedding band.

Not simple ones, for she was a princess. It was Daemion who chose or Shiera’s most likely. There were two rings in one: a floral themed gold ring with an oval-shaped ruby surrounded by diamonds and a small gold band with leaf shapes set with diamonds.

Daemion’s ring was a bishop shaped gold with a ruby.

A more Grynffindor set of rings wasn’t possible.

 _You’re a Ravenclaw_ , a voice whispered. She pushed down those thoughts, feeling her hand heavy. 

A musician whispered something, but when she noticed his presence, it was too late to listen. However, it didn’t take a genius to realize what it was.

“Shall we take the first dance, husband?” She tried her best at being seductive yet virginal.

She let Daemion guide her. Margaret’s experience with dance wasn’t the best. Unlike, Hermione who had classic ballet lessons as a child, she learned from Theo in hidden classrooms.

“I apologize beforehand if I steep on your foot.” 

“The Lady Shiera told me you weren’t as bad as you said,” Daemion spoke. For this first time in this day, he sounded less tense. 

Margaret managed her first dance with her husband without making a joke of herself. As the harpist played the accords of the second one, couples joined them in the ballroom. Daemion's movements were as graceful as they were in the fighting yard, and soon she found herself forgetting the people surrounding her.

After the fourth dance, the silence that at first was comfortable was growing heavier. The tension grew with each twirl.

Looking around for a distraction, she was pleased when she found Hermione. Her movements much fluid than hers, but her partner was unknown to her.

"Magister Maegyr youngest son," Daemion whispered, and she turned to him.

His eyes were the color of lilacs, something she never pictured as possible, but that was incredibly beautiful.

Feeling a tightness in her lower abdomen, she turned to her best friend. Even with couples between them, Margaret could see that Mia was having a pleasant conversation with her dancing partner.

"They seem to be getting along."

"He is a scholar. He studied law and ancient history on The Old College of Volantis."

"The Maegyrs have been trying to court us since we began our dealings with the Widow."

"They aren't pleased that scions of old Valyrian are working with an old freed slave woman instead of another scion of Old Valyria."

"I refuse to work with slavers. The Widow will direct the operations in Volantis. Her crew of freed slaves is trustworthy, unlike these fancy-dressed slavers."

It was an old argument, one she wasn't pleased to be speaking on her wedding day.

"Still, a large fraction of the council isn't pleased."

"The Widow has support too."

Daemion twirled her around. His voice lowered, "Not everyone is so happy with Volantis currently ruling class. Not even people on the inside."

"Not our problem," She whispered and soon found herself exchanging partners and forcing herself to smile as the man with blue eyes appeared in front of her.

The last thing she needed was to piss off the Archon’s brother.

"You look magnificent, my princess," His accent was much better than most who tried to speak the common tongue of Westeros.

"Thank you, your grace. Are you finding Volantis to your liking?"

She spent the next three minutes regretting that question. Tyrosh was still not happy with losing the last war. The War of the Stepstones ended in 260 AC to the Westerosi, but the Free Cities battled for another six years. Tyrosh was the last to fall. Much like Germany after the Great War, the state-city made to pay for the bill. They wouldn't recover soon. Daemion believed that there would be war in two decades. She agreed.

Another reason to leave this place.

From the corner of her eyes, she was surprised to see Severus dancing with Shiera.

.

.

"Princess, you look beautiful."

Dhalia, her maid, had been a Tyrosh prostitute. She was sold to a slaver's ship to serve the men there.

Margaret's ship crossed paths with the slavers when they were on their way to Volantis. They had killed the slavers and freed the people. Unfortunately, most had no opportunities to return home, so Margaret and Mia offered them work and were instructing the younger ones.

Dhalia was one of them. She was beginning to show her pregnancy at the time, and her little boy - Daario - had been born in Volantis. Dhalia gave him her last name. He would grow in their household, and despite her temper and dislike for most people, Dhalia was loyal to a fault because of it.

"Thank you. Did you enjoy the feast?"

Because her marriage turned into a political gathering, the people they worked with couldn’t be invited. Ella Hightower hosted a feast for them in the mansion in their stead. The place that soon would belong to the famed Widower of the Waterfront, to the distaste of the pureblood slavers in this rotten city.

“Finer food I ate,” Dhalia spoke as she helped Margaret out of her dress. “Is princess worried about bedding?”

 _No. This princess is no maid_. “I’ve been instructed in what to do.”

Dhalia scoffed. “Well-bread ladies aren’t taught a thing.”

“That I agree with you. Fortunately, I learned from better sources," she spoke with a grin as the gown fell onto the floor.

Dhalia seemed to be surprised with what she was wearing underneath. A sly glint shone in her dark eyes as she saw the knife strapped around her thigh. The satin slip barely covered her bottom. The virginal white was embroidered at the neckline with golden lace.

“Well taught indeed.” 

After saying her goodbyes to Dhalia, Margaret allowed herself a moment to herself.

She sat in the vanity and stared at the mirror. It still felt strange to stare back at a reflection that was different from her own. Her old one, she reminded herself.

"You need to do this."

She held the vail between her fingers. With a deep breath and shaking hands, she quickly opened it and swallowed it.

"Margaret is no more. You will enter that room as Rhaena Targaryen." She said to the mirror. "A married princess, ready to do her duty and all that crap."

_Rhaena Targaryen. Rhaena Targaryen._

Names were important. Hers was a popular Targaryen name. Rhaena Targaryen. It sounded nice. Rhaena was the name of the first grandchild of the Conqueror. _Who had a fucking terrible life_. The other two Rhaena’s were a perfect little princess. One did what her kings commanded and appropriately supported the family. Not like her twin Baela who yielded a sword and did not hide her opinions about anything. The last Rhaena became a nun. Well, Septa. 

Well behaved women those last two.

 _If I have a daughter, I’m calling her Rhaenyra_.

“Who are you, Rhaena Targaryen?” She asked the figure in front of her. “You are not a Septa, nor a modest princess. You’re the daughter of a Maegor, not his wife. Thankfully. Are you another queen-who-never-was? I guess we will have time to find out.”

.

.

She walked through the chamber into the door that would get her to Daemion’s suit. She knocked and entered with a confident stride that a maiden wouldn’t have.

The room was lighted with candles, giving it a romantic glow. The gilded details of the painted walls shone bright gold. The double mirror doors were slightly opened, allowing a soft breeze to enter the room.

Her husband turned to see her and froze by the bed.

She contained her grin from appearing as she walked to him. Apparently, Daemion wasn't used to seeing highborn ladies with her self-assurance. His eyes tracked her with a lustful gaze. As she stopped inches from him, she let her eyes appreciate the view in front of her. Daemion was stupidly handsome, a towering presence with broad-shoulders and a slender figure. With only his breeches one, she could appreciate his toned torso.

Margaret hadn’t seen such an attractive man since –well, diary Tom Riddle.

Tom Riddler's confidence was in his magical power, the certainty that he was above all others. Daemion's came from his lording upbringing. The Velaryon was also aware of the attraction he caused women and wasn't unafraid to use it.

“By the Gods, Rhaena. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve seen.” He whispered, his tone hoarse.

His arms went around her waist to pull her into his hot body.

“Did women in your land wear things like these?”

“Some.” She let her hands traveled through his square chin. She tilted her head. “Do you like it?”

“Hum.” He replied and then pulled her into a kiss.

It wasn't the romantic kisses Theo gave her, but ardent, full of lust and passion. His lips went from her lips, to her earlobe, to her throat, and back to her mouth. His hands were everywhere too, trying to control their movements.

Rhaena bit his lip hard.

"Ouch!"

Taking opportunity of his distraction, Rhaena pushed him onto the bed. She climbed it with a grin as he blinked at her.

"You'll be the death of me, Rhaena Targaryen."


	5. Hermione II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione contemplates failure, justice, and vengeance.   
> She also can't sleep.

Chapter 5 - Hermione II

_20 th March 278 AC_

Hermione let out a frustrating growl.

"Test fifteen. Fail."

She looked at the parchment in front of her. The thing had some writing lines, but most of the letters were pressed too close or too far apart. The parchment was crumple in the corners, and half had ink spots butchering the few good printed lines that the printing press managed to produce.

Despite actually being able to print some lines, deep down, it was another failure.

Hermione glared at the machine in front of her. After months of work on it, she was tired of the lack of results.

"Perhaps next time we'll have better results?" Mollono consoled her. His understanding of the Common Tongue was getting better. Or it was the experience he was getting from reassuring Hermione of her failures.

She offered him a small smile.

Hermione met Mollono in Meereen. He was a slave fighter in the fighting pits that wouldn't last long in it. He came from a line of slaves- Hermione couldn't stand that expression. His looks and natural built pushed him towards the pits, something Hermione could see he detested. 

Mollono was one of the workers employed by Hermione. His natural talent for woodwork made him the leading builder.

He was the one who built the machine in front of them.

He also spent much of his time working on Severus lab, and the professor even took him under his tutelage. Hermione suspected she was about to lose a fine craftsman to Severus, but she wouldn't deny the people they freed the right to chose their trade.

"Perhaps, we should focus on something else."

Hermione turned to Shiera. "If Johannes Gutenberg did it, so can I."

"I don't know why you want to make a device to print books," Shiera rolled her eyes. "This house was more books than some of the best libraries in the known world. I would know. I visited most of them."

"Because with the printing press comes more easy access to books, which means more people will be able to learn, which means less illiteracy."

"And more money for us."

Hermione glared in response.

Shiera had a Ravenclaw thirst for knowledge. In a land where only a small percentage of women even knew how to write their names, she dedicated her life to academic pursuits. Hermione respected that about her. What she disliked about the woman was how invested in keeping knowledge to herself. Learning should be shared, not guarded between a few lucky ones.

Hermione would provoke a Printing Revolution, even if she had to spend her years figuring out to make a damn printing press.

"We can make money selling books, yes."

With the money from those selling's, she will build a school and hire a painter to paint Shiera's face when she discovered it.

The portrait will look marvelous in Hermione's headmistress office.

She pushed that thought aside and focused on the work she needed to get done.

She couldn't understand her mistake. The drawings and the engines looked the same to her- a perfect replica. It should be working. They wouldn't know how to update the machine. The model had to work, or Hermione might not be able to advance with the project.

She didn't have the time to start from zero.

There must be something that was missing from the book.

Back when Hermione and Margaret realized there was a probability they would end up in a world not as advanced as their own, the two of them collected any text they could find. They focused a great deal on the evolution of Science, having spent hours brainstorming things they would need, and went on a search of scholarly works, taking anything they could get their hands in.

Unfortunately, because of the Death Eaters, it wasn't easy to get into the muggle world. And impossible to leave for the continent, or Hermione would have stolen a damn printing press.

They did bring with them many books about the Age of Enlightenment. Margaret's love for the Renaissance also came in handy, for she had a small collection of books about the period already.

"Execute it again."

Hermione eyed the engine as it worked. Even before Mollono gave her the newly printed parchment, she knew it was another failure.

She studied the parchment and then the engine.

"It's the pressing," she thought out loud. "I need to figure out how to sustain the pressing work and find a way to preserve the ink."

"It the wood that keeps the pressing from working?" Hermione was almost startled by the voice next to her.

"At first, my lady Ella. But we changed the type. The problem is that thing Lady Alysanne calls the type. We need a more durable metal, but that is still flexible," Macaw spoke, then repeated some words to Mollono.

"A mix of metals would be better. What are you using?" Her not-mother asked her as she approached her worktable.

Ella Hightower was dressed too finely for engineering work.

The brown gown had Margaret's fingerprints were all over it. Hermione almost rolled her eyes. Her friend was taking the princess role to an extreme. It was worse than the Yule Ball.

"We tried a few, but either worked. This time we used tin." Mollono offered in Ghiscari, which Macaw translated.

Hermione was pleased with herself for being able to understand most of it.

Hermione had taken to the new languages better than Margaret, but her knowledge of Ghiscari wouldn't let her make small talk with a native.

High Valyrian, however, was easier to learn.

Her friend could speak it well, but writing it was harder for Margaret. She was working on it, though. Luckily, the language of Westeros was English which caused more questions than answers.

The barrier of the language was the first problem they had to deal with in their household. Communication was bothersome in a group of mixed races and backgrounds. Thankfully, some of the slaves they freed knew more than one language.

The kids were learning the common tongue, and Hermione was confident they would all speak it fluently. Some also learned their mother tongue, and there was a small class for those who wished to learn High Valyrian.

It had broken her heart when they thought they would be working for them. Hermione wanted them to be able to forget the bondage they grew up in and enjoy their youths as much as they could. Education, playing, finding what they wanted to do. She wished to offer them all.

"We need a metalworker specialist," Macaw offered, his High Valyrian more fluid.

Macaw was born in the summer islands. He was capture in his early twenty and was now his late forties. He wasn't the most vocal of men, and his imposing figure could make him menacing had not been for his soothing nature.

He never spoke of his life but always had a word and comforting touch for the young ones.

He was also one of the four freed slaves that spoke fluently High Valyrian. While the others became teachers and scribes, Macaw preferred to work in the workshops.

"Perhaps we can hire someone from the city," the summer islander suggested

The likelihood of finding someone in Volantis working on metal that wasn't a slave was pretty much zero.

"Ser Brynden has some texts on the property of metals. Perhaps, I'll find something in there."

"I can go to his workplace and ask him of it."

"If you wouldn't mind Macaw." She looked outside the window. It was midday. "We might as well take a break."

It had been hours since they began working. Even Hermione was starting to feel the need for food.

"Resting will do everyone some good. And food." Lady Ella looked at her.

Everyone left but Hermione and her.

"You've been here too long, Aly. I know you weren't in your bed last night."

"I thought I had a breakthrough."

She offered a smile that spoke of motherly solace. Hermione shifted uncomfortably.

"You can't hurry things like these. It will come to you when it's time."

"I don't have time."

She came to stand next to Hermione, her eyes observing the drawings and annotations. "You are young. You don't lack time. Tell me why you truly want to make this so fast."

Ella Hightower had a gracious way to get information out of someone. It made Hermione think of what she imagined was the behavior of the most polished Slytherin girls.

"Knowledge is power," she repeated the words Margaret had said to her when discussed why she picked Ravenclaw over Slytherin. "If we figure this out, I can give the freemen will have the power to make a change. Even to the opportunity to free more people."

To rebel, she thought.

Ella's lips turned into a knowing smile. "The Volantene ruling class won't like it."

"They won't stand a chance," It had been Margaret and Daemion who first commented, and Professor Snape confirmed it. "They pretend to be powerful and might, but the truth is that the pureblood of Volantis are few and poorer they will have you believe."

Like the most purebloods in Hermione's wizarding world, the slavers of Volantis hosted parties and decorated their mansions in ways to show wealth to extremes. It was what first made Margaret's brain tick.

"Volantis is dependent on their slaves. There are five slaves for every free man. And those slaves," Hermione spit the word, They are the ones who grow food, clean the city, take care of the young ones. They are guards, ship workers, soldiers. What would happen if they came together to fight against their oppressors."

"War. Thousands would die."

Hermione nodded. "Every revolution comes at a cost."

For a second, the woman's face was pure shock, then Ella Hightower's blue eyes sharpened, a cunning smile appeared on her face.

The young witch felt something inside her that was very familiar to her. It was the same feeling she got from when her parents commented on her perfect grades or when her professor praised her intellect.

Pride.

.

.

_21 th March 278 AC_

In a way, it was theirs since most of the nights they shared the bed. Their bedroom was connected through a smaller room that only the two of them had the keys. The room functioned as a hidden office, where they kept the objects they wish to between the two of them. 

They didn't spend much time decorating the place. The chambers would be a temporary residence, and after a year of sleeping in a tent, they were happy enough with having a bed.

"Did you have a breakthrough?" Maggie asked as she got up from the bed and marked the page she was reading with a Ravenclaw ribbon. 

Hermione's answering huff was enough, but she elaborated while she unbuttoned her working dress. "I've spent hours going over physics books and periodical tables to see what metals would work. I have some new ideas to be tested, but I think they will end up as failed attempts."

"Or maybe not."

Her best friend grinned when she saw the cotton leggings Hermione was wearing underneath her dress. In her hands were already the camisole and shorts Hermione would be sleeping. 

Margaret's obsession with fancy clothes was well known.

That reminded Hermione of something. 

"Why was Ella Hightower dressed liked she got out of a Tudor movie?"

The clothes they wore in Westeros were more similar more medieval than Renaissance, and in a way, Hermione preferred it that way.

"Did you like it?" Maggie gave her a knowing grin. "I worked on the design with Elza. It is better than the current fashion of Westeros."

"Please tell me we aren't going to end up looking like Elizabeth the first?"

"I don't have that much confidence to wear ruffs or skirts that barely passed through a door."

A few weeks ago, they had a conversation about corsets, strays, and modern underwear. Despite Hermione's protests, Margaret pointed out that corsets could be comfortable. They reached a compromise, where Hermione would wear whatever she wished under her new clothes, as long as it didn't show. But, on occasion, she would allow Maggie to pick her undergarments. 

However, all that clothes talk annoyed Hermione, and she ended up giving Margaret free reign in making her wardrobe. She could see herself regretting that decision very soon. 

"For Merlin shake, Maggie. I am not wearing clothes that make it impossible for me to sit."

"You'll be fine." 

Hermione laid of the bed with a frustrating growl. Ignoring Maggie's teasing laughs, she turned to see what she had been reading. 

"Seriously, Machiavelli?"

Margaret blew up one of the candles by the door, leaving only the ones by the bed. Hermione got her wand from her leg holster and cast a _Lumos_. The three wizards have been practicing their magic. Most of the magic they knew was impossible to practice. However, the magic that linked to the elements was still possible to cast. The wording was no longer in Latin but the language of Asshai. 

According to Severus, the language was similar to the old Celtic, the language spoke in the early times of Hogwarts. It added more questions than answers. 

"He makes some good points about the world we are living in now," Margaret spoke as she discarded her silk nightrobe. The Ravenclaw blue was the same color as her sleeping gown. 

Hermione had read the famous book before. She was well aware of what it said. 

"I don't think we should be following his teachings," Hermione said as her friend sat on her side of the bed, braiding her long silver locks. 

How fair was that Margaret got to be even more beautiful? Hermione was aware that Alysanne Flowers didn't lack physical attributes, but still, for once, Hermione would like to be as beautiful as her friends.

_Does that make me vain? Gods, I'm spending too much time with Maggie._

"I was not saying we should follow his words but that this world works like that."

_You're not denying it, either._

"Is that why you are marrying Daemion?"

Maggie bit her lip. "It is one of the reasons. Shiera's spies reported that King Aerys openly spoke about marrying his son to me. I don't know this Prince Rhaegar. The opinion on his character is mostly positive, but he mostly keeps himself to his books."

Daemion Velaryon had little taste for books. He was a warrior and a sailor, not a scholar. Despite his beauty, he wasn't really what Hermione would describe as Margaret's type.

He was no Theo.

Theo Nott mostly kept to himself, spent his time in the library or some quiet corner. He was almost more bookish than Hermione. She also knew that her friend's boyfriend had enjoyed debating pretty much about everything. 

Because of the war, Margaret and Theodore spent their time hidden away from the students' eyes. Still, Hermione had been the first to know about them, and that allowed her to see more of their relationship than most. Their ideal dates were sitting on a couch while conversing about some topic that caught their fancy. She wasn't blind like Harry or Ron. Margaret did more than hold hands with Theo. And despite his quietness, Theodore was a true Slytherin. Perhaps because of it. Because while everyone in school knew every single thing about Draco, almost no one knew Theo.

"I think Daemion is a better choice. Even I know about the tensions in Westeros. This way, we can have some peace."

It was with those words that Hermione understood. The last thing she would want was to be married to a man that resembled Ron.

"Peace would be good," Margaret said almost wishfully. Her eyes green turned sadder. "Mia, I don't think I know what peace looks like."

Hermione squeezed her hand. 

"I don't think I know how to live without having to fight."

Hermione tried to come up with something to say, but it harder than she expected. While Hermione's still had nightmares and was unable to enter a place without looking for ways to run away from it, her work helped her deal with the pain. Having a purpose always calmed her mind. 

Hermione had no fear in showing Margaret her grief. And her friend held her when she woke up crying or screaming. However, Margaret rarely awoke screaming or crying. And she was very good at hiding away her pain.

"You could come with me to the workshops more often."

"There is so much I still need to go over with the ship captains. Instructions to give to our workers and finance plans to go over. I need to figure out a way to make this operation work while we are a continent away."

"I thought Daemion was doing most of the accounting work."

Margaret gave a laugh, "Daemion might be an expert tradesman, but his knowledge of financials and math in general leaves much to be desired. He's learning, but he can't do it by himself."

"Perhaps you should give him one of those economy books you brought."

"I already did it. Daemion stared at the words and graphics like they were going to attack him." Hermione laughed at her friend's expression. "A Ravenclaw he is not."

"But the work helps?"

Margaret turned pensive. "At times," she shrugged, "It keeps me busy, but it is not very fulfilling. At times, I wondered I am doing it."

"Think that you are helping build a trade business that employs freedmen that otherwise would be forced into bondage. We are building the pillars of a rebellion."

Margaret gave her a bright smile. "We are doing good. Aren't we?"

"Of course," Hermione said immediately. "Did you doubt it?"

Her eyes flicked. "No." She laid down on the bed and turned her body to Hermione, "Tell me about the printing press project, and how are the kids doing in their classes?" 

.

.

_26 th March 278 AC_

The apartments offered to them for the night showed the glorious lifestyle those of pure Valyrian blood lived. It made her sick, especially when Hermione saw the hurt it caused every day in the slaves that lived outside the Black Walls.

After what seemed like hours tossing and turning in her too-large bed, Hermione had enough. She put on a dressing gown and left the room.

Outside there was silence. The wedding night had ended hours ago, and Margaret had left with Daemion previous to it. They would be in an isolated part of the complex of apartments.

The apartments offered to them for the night showed the glorious lifestyle those of pure Valyrian blood lived. It made her sick, especially when Hermione saw the hurt it caused every day in the slaves that lived outside the Black Walls. The falseness of it all also made her want to curse them. 

After what seemed like hours tossing and turning in her too-large bed, Hermione had enough. She put on a dressing gown and left the room.

Outside there was silence. The wedding night had ended hours ago, and Margaret had left with Daemion earlier. They would be in an isolated part of the complex of apartments to enjoy their wedding without interruptions. 

Hermione founded the balcony she had previously seen and went to lean over the railing. The darkness of night hid all the horrors of the city. Hermione could almost pretend Volantis was just like any other city, but every time she closed her eyes, she could hear the word mudblood screamed at her.

When she tried to calm her mind, her thoughts would turn to Margaret.

Hermione's parents had been lapsing in their religious practices. And in her youth, religion and the afterlife had little place in her mind. But the war made her confronted and complement death and what came after.

The Wizarding World believed in an afterlife. The Ghosts evidenced it. It brought comfort to her, knowing there was somewhere where she would day see her fallen friends.

_How does the afterlife look? Could they see her?_

If so, Hermione wondered what Ron and Harry were thinking. 

Did Harry felt angry or sad at seeing his twin marrying a person she didn't love? 

Would Ron see it as a betrayal if Hermione did the same? 

Could she do the same?

"Shouldn't you be asleep?" Hermione jumped.

She turned to see Severus joining her. He replaced his party clothes with a black velvet dressing gown.

"I can't sleep." She confessed.

Hermione wondered when she began feeling so comfortable with a professor that had been so cruel to her. Was it when she saved his life? The weeks spent sharing a house? Asshai?

Could her mind stop asking questions for a second?

"There is too much in my mind to even try."

They sat in silence, overlooking the city for some time. Despite the almost peaceful scenario, Hermione could shake the restlessness inside her. 

She wanted to march over to Margaret's rooms and stop whatever was happening. Or turn back time and leave the ship and their companions as soon as they had docked. Hermione, Severus, and Margaret could have settled in a house and live their days in tranquility and contentment. 

Settled was a word that Hermione never liked.

"Do you they are watching over us?"

Severus froze at her questioning. He seemed lost for words, but Hermione waited.

"It's possible."

"Or maybe they are incapable of seeing us," she added. "I don't know which is worse." Hermione filled her chest with the cold air. "I don't like this world. No, I hate it! There are days where I wish we didn't come here," she confessed. "Then I feel ashamed for it. Because we are alive and safe."

"It is normal to feel that way. I don't particularly like it here either. And I fear we won't like Westeros much more."

"At least I won't see people forced into bondage. It angers me. I know I should do something to save them. Instead, I am playing into the slavers game. Drinking and eating their food. Food I know very well who prepared and served." 

He didn't seem to know what to say to her. However, Hermione had a lot she wished to say. Things she hid even from Margaret. Later, she would blame the alcohol she had consumed at the party and the lack of sleep for her words.

"I can't do what Margaret did. I can't marry a man, share his bed, bound my life to his, and not love him."

"You won't need to."

Hermione knew that. She read the official paperwork.

"But Maggie did. She bent to the medieval ways this society works in a year. I can't forget who I am. Or what I believe in."

"You are not the same," his words were somber but uncruel.

 _I know_. Hermione was terrible at adapting to new things. Ron, too, in a way. But Harry just went with the flow. And Margaret - 

"A snake shredding another skin." She whispered. 

It had been Sirius who said it. Hermione had heard him. He had been well into his cups, and Remus was keeping him company. Hermione's restlessness had driven her to the Black library, where she found them. They never knew she heard the conversation.

_"She's too bloody Slytherin for my like, Remus. Harry, bless him, is good and, despite all, a simple boy. That girl - Every time, she reminds me of one of my cousins. And of all of them, Dora is the one I see less. And at times, I see nothing at all."_

"Not all snakes are evil, Miss Granger." It had been such a long time since she heard that tone - Professor Snape's tone. It was like being back at potions class.

"I know. But I am scared for Margaret. Not just for her. Three years ago, I would be rebelling against Volantis's elite. Not playing courtier with them. What if - what if when I meet them again, I won't be the same Hermione?" 

"You won't." His tone was rigid but not unkind. "You wouldn't be the same girl if you went to them tomorrow morning. Neither of us will be. People are not static. They change. Sometimes, they change for good, others for bad. At times, they change in time to do good. Other times they change into something irredeemable. But they change."

"I'm afraid of what we'll become."

"Aren't we all, Miss Granger," he head turned to the city. "Aren't we all."

.

.

_4 th April 278 AC_

Prince Maegor was skin and bone. His room, while as airy as his condition allowed, felt gloomy.

"You came to visit the old man," the prince said as Hermione sat next to his bed.

He looked like a man close to 60 instead of the forty-six years old he was. The prince might be able to hold on to life for a few more years had he not have his spirit also broken. Grief was killing him as much as his lungs.

Hermione felt guilt for it. He stole his daughters from him. 

"You look sad, my child. Don't, death takes us all, sooner or later."

"I-" She tried to hide her expression. The last thing Prince Maegor needed was to deal with her conflicted feelings.

"My girls would be gone either way. We both know that. The Gods needed their souls, but not their bodies. I will see them again, and their bodies will be vessels for Their emissaries."

Hermione wanted to shake him. Hermione was here because of magic - dark magic - not because the Gods sent her.

"I would hate me if I were you. Gods be damned. What good have they gone?"

_They took your wife, friends, daughters, and now they were taking you. How can you believe in them still?_

He gave a weak laugh.

"You can't see it, but you are so much like my Allie. At times it was like she never left. Your sister is the same."

Hermione forced herself to smile. His purple eyes shone with realization. 

"You don't believe me. I can see that. Alysanne couldn't hide a thing either. Not like Rhaena. Allie was bold and brave. She would fight to make the world as she saw fit no matter what the others believed," he coughed.

Hermione went to pick up a cup of water. She supported his head as she helped him drink it. As she did it, Hermione noticed how hot he was.

His fever was lasting five days by now.

"Thank you, child," he said as she put down the empty goblet. "What as I saying?"

"You were speaking of your daughters." 

He did say a lot since he was bedridden. He spoke of his daughters. The red-haired wife he loved in all ways he could, but now in the ways she desired. His friendship with Prince Duncan and Jenny. The family he lost at Castamere. The people he met during his travels. Princess Daenora, the proud mother, never forgot the crown the country denied her, and even today cursed the men who stole her right away.

"Oh, those two. My girls weren't like the two of you in one thing. They didn't get along with each other as well as you two do."

"Really?"

"Oh, they shared many hobbies. Mostly books. But their minds saw the world differently. Alysanne was too idealistic and her sister too much a cynic. Rhaena behaved in the way people expected of her. She played the fool, or the defenseless maid, or vapid princess. All the while, her mind would be plotting some scheme for her own amusement. She would be a courtier to fear. Allie couldn't deal with that side of Rhaena."

"Maggie can be a bit like that."

"But you accept it."

"She didn't have a great upbringing. Her parents died when she was a baby, and the people who took care of her were dismissive in the good days and cruel on bad ones. What she is and always was, is clever. Maggie knew how to play people to get her way. I didn't even realize it when we meet. But I know that her upbringing made her that way. And how could I blame her for it."

"But it makes you uncomfortable."

It wasn't a question, so Hermione didn't answer.

"There is a difference between cruelness and ruthlessness. My father was cruel. Mad, even. He inflicted pain on people because he enjoyed it ... Bloodraven, your Brynden, and Rhaena. They're ruthless."

"I don't think Rhaena is as bad as Bloodraven. Or Shiera."

She didn't tell him that Professor Snape could be as cruel when he wanted. Hermione had been the victim of that cruelty more than once.

He gave her a sad smile. 

"Shiera _is_ ruthless. You're clever in seeing that. Many don't, and that's their mistake. Sometimes the last one they make. Bloodraven was ruthless in his policy and even more with his enemies. But that ruthless was paired with unwavering loyalty. I can't speak for your Brynden, but he is devoted to protecting the two of you, and for that, I will approve his ruthlessness. And he's aware of Lady Shiera's ways than you don't realize."

Hermione couldn't help but lean forward. His speech was soft but so insightful. She had no idea he was able to read people this well.

"My Rhaena ruthless and ambition suffocated her and would destroy her one day. That was why I kept her away from Westeros for all these years. She wanted the throne, and Shiera would use that desire, and my mother would use all her connections to see it done. Shiera loves the game of thrones too much to leave it be for too long. And my mother would care little of what would happen as long as her line sat on the throne."

"Margaret has no desires for a crown."

"I wouldn't say that." He countered.

Hermione flinched back. Why would Margaret want a crown? "Your Margaret is aware of what it could cost. A war. That is what sets her apart. Because the last thing Margaret wants is a war, I can see how much she loathes it. My daughter craved. Crave doing to Tywin Lannister what he did to her mother's family."

"And you didn't? What he did was horrible. He should pay for his crimes."

"You crave justice. I did too. But I desire vengeance too. And King Aegon taught me something that I never forget. Justice and vengeance are not the same. I tried to pass it down to my daughters, but I fear that Rhaena didn't listen to my empty words."

.

.

Hermione was pleased that she was sleeping alone that night. Because as she looked at the canopy, she reviewed that conversation, over and over. The theme of revenge didn't leave her mind.

All she could think about was how she had imprisoned Skeeter without a second thought. Margaret had the plan to manipulate her further. But it was Hermione who put in her a jar.

And Umbridge. There is not a single bit of regret in her soul for what she did. At times, Hermione was displeased that pink monstrosity never crossed her in battle, and Umbridge would learn why DADA practical classes were necessary.

Hermione could picture her pink robes ruined, her awful voice pleading for mercy. Hermione assured she paid for each scar she inflicted on the students twice.

Then, there was Bellatrix. Just imagine the revenge she had planned, frightened Hermione.

That night. Hermione didn't sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I created up a Pinterest board for those who wish to follow the story with some images I use for inspiration. It is under margot1996david.


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